The Lost Files: Sarah's Journal
by HandHeldWriter
Summary: Discover the events that took place surrounding Sarah after John, Six, and Sam leave Paradise, Ohio for safety. Observe what Sarah's life was like and what she had to endure in their absence. And learn what happens that leads her to make the decisions and actions that ultimately take John by surprise. Now it's time to find out Sarah's story...
1. Chapter 1

**I Am Chapter ONE**

We engage in one last kiss. There's so much going through my mind it's difficult to process it all. A lot has happened, and yet so much more is ahead. But right now, it's time for John to leave; it's not safe for him to stay any longer. I know this is the best thing for him to do despite how much it pains me to admit it. His warm embrace feels so good; I don't want to let go.

Ever.

I wish I could take a photograph of this moment, not only of the vivid details of how everything looks, but of how everything feels and smells and tastes. A photograph that would enable me to relive this moment ... this kiss.

John opens the door to the truck. Our eyes are locked on each other, never wanting to break the connection. I bring my hands over my mouth and nose hoping to suppress any tears from emerging. He closes the door and Six puts the truck in gear and as they pull out of the parking lot, Mark and I walk to the edge of the road and watch as they drive away.

My hands fail to hold back the tears, which now fall relentlessly and uncontrollably. I see John turn around to watch me through the rear window. As he waves, Mark waves back but I'm unable to move a muscle despite the subtle convulsions my body makes at the sobbing. As they continue to drive away, he never turns around. He keeps his gaze on me until we fade to a blur ... and then, finally out of view.

_That's it_. _He's gone._

Hopefully not for good. Even though I want to believe that we will be together after today, there's a fear in me that says otherwise: That we will never see each other again.

But as soon as that thought takes hold, another thought—almost a voice—comes forth saying, "We'll be together yet. And until that day you'll be in my heart and my every thought." Now I hang on this to give me some comfort ... and some ray of hope.

_Hope._

Another thought emerges. _John mentioned something that Henry had said. What was it?_

He told me, "Don't give up hope just yet. It's the last thing to go. When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost ... there is _always_ hope." I try to dwell on this as Mark drives the two of us in my car back to Paradise ... back to home.

_Home._ _What will life be like, at home?_

I don't want to think about that now. We ride in silence, which is fine for me at the moment. I don't feel like keeping up a conversation. I think Mark notices this and just keeps his attention on the road.

I watch the light snow float softly down from the gray clouds above. As soon as it hits the windshield, it melts to form small droplets of water. They eventually gather and streak quickly across the glass, reminding me how fast things have happened since yesterday. Images flood my mind: gun blasts and explosions all around me; beasts of unimaginable creations trying to kill us; aliens—no, predators—chasing us; and me thrusting a knife into one of them causing it to disintegrate into ash right before me.

I'm at odds with myself trying to make sense of all that has happened. It seems too much like a dream.

_Is this real? Is this all really happening?_

I turn and look at Mark; I see the exhaustion in his face. I glance down at my hands and see that they're beginning to tremble. The shock begins to take form, and I know I need to get my mind off of it. I need to break this silence. I clear my throat before I speak.

"So, what did you say to Sam?" I ask, looking back out the window.

"Huh?" Mark says with a somewhat startled expression, as if he wasn't expecting me to speak.

"Before they left," I say, "at the truck, you said something to Sam. What'd you say?" now turning my attention to Mark.

"Oh," he says looking at me then back to the road. "I told him that I was sorry for picking on him all those times. If I'd known he was going to be best friends with an alien that could kick my ass, I never would've messed with him. You know something to that effect."

I can't help but crack a smile at what he just said. "_Really?_" I say with more surprise in my tone than I intended. "What did he say?" I ask, this time, with a little more subtlety.

"He said it was okay, not to worry about it. Things are different now." Mark gives a small laugh before going on, "He said that even though I helped out in the end, he still thought I was a dick before all this. We both laughed about it, and I said _I was_ a dick and that I deserved that. He doesn't think that now; He said things have changed."

Things _have_ changed. _A lot_ has changed. Even Mark has changed, that much I can tell just from him: apologizing to Sam; helping now and back at the school; and carrying John back to the truck to get him and the rest of us out of there ... out of trouble.

Again, the images of the battle quickly fill my mind.

"Did he say anything else?" I ask, snapping myself back to reality and trying to stop the slideshow in my head from continuing.

"Yeah, actually he did." He hesitates; his expression takes on a serious tone. "He said to keep an eye on you. You know, for John. He said to keep you safe and stuff. Make sure we get you two guys back together when all this is over."

_Back together. _

_When all this is over._

Those thoughts give me a little comfort. At least I know Sam remains optimistic. And I know Mark will hold up to that: keeping an eye on me and trying to keep me safe. That provides a little comfort too. I know he respects John now and doesn't want to disappoint him. Mark knows my feelings for John, so I'm sure he won't interfere with that in any way.

As we get closer to town, we can see the school in the distance—or better yet, what's _left _of the school. Mounds of black smoke continue to billow up into the air; the ground is covered in all kinds of scattered debris from concrete slabs that are broken and crumpled to steel beams that are twisted and mangled. We take in the massive amounts of destruction that took place there just last night, and to think: _We survived it! _

_Barely._

"Wow, it looks worse now than it did last night," Mark says under his breath. "Of course, we were all running and fighting for our lives too. We didn't have time to take in the sights."

I slowly nod in agreement ... and disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll be watching us closely now," he adds. "The police, probably the Feds, and more than likely those aliens too ... they'll be watching."

I nod again with no words, just staring at what's left of the school in the distance.

Mark gives a long sigh and then continues, "The most important thing we can do is keep John safe. Whatever we do—_no matter what_—we have to make sure we help keep John alive by any means necessary."

"Absolutely," I draw out in a long whisper, more to myself than to Mark. As we continue the drive into town, those words keep echoing in my head: _keep John alive ... by any means necessary._


	2. Chapter 2

**I Am Chapter TWO**

_JOURNAL ENTRY: Day 3_

_It's only been two days since you left. I miss you so much, John! Things have been so crazy around here, I'm so tired of all the attention and hype that's going on. I really don't have anyone to talk to, so I decided to start writing a journal. I know, it sounds more like I'm writing a letter to you. I guess it's my way of coping... it feels like I'm talking to you. I always feel better when I'm talking to you. Maybe one day you can read this and understand a little more. Besides, I need to do something that will help me get through all this. You know photography is my passion, but with all the buzz around Paradise it's hard to get out and take pictures without being hassled. Writing is another passion. I don't get to do it much... until now. At least this is something I can do in the privacy of my own home._

_Privacy? Now there's a word that's foreign to me now. There's not much I can do without someone watching me. There's people everywhere—police, FBI, and news crews. Wow, sorry... I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Maybe I should start from the beginning so you have a better understanding of what's going on, right? Okay, here goes..._

_After you left that morning, Mark drove me home. He left my car at the house and walked to his aunt's house, since she lives just a couple blocks away. That's where he's staying for now because of that little house fire of his. Remember? Yeah right, how could you forget? Anyway, I stayed locked up in my room most of the morning. Trying to make sense of everything: the aliens, the creatures, the battle, the school, you, me, and... us. Mostly us though._

_Things were pretty quiet until my parents busted through the front door yelling for me. They were hysterical. Once they got to my room and saw that I was okay, they calmed down. They were freaking out about the school being destroyed. They didn't know if I was trapped in there since I never came home from school the day before. With everything going on, I didn't even think about that! I'm actually surprised no one checked the school until the next morning... after the battle, after the school was destroyed. I'm glad they didn't! They didn't need to see all that!_

_Anyway, they were glad to finally have found me. They started asking me where I was, what happened, and if I saw anyone else. Questions! Questions! Questions! I didn't know what to say. I panicked! All I said was that before school got out, strange things started happening and I got scared and hid. Which is actually true! But then you found me and... well, you know. But I didn't say that part. I just said I stayed hidden until near morning when things calmed down. When I came out, everything was in ruins. Mark found me and we left the school and drove home. That's the story I'm sticking with. I hope he says the same thing! I guess we should've gotten our stories straight before he left. Oh well, we'll figure something out._

_Thank goodness they believed me! They probably didn't care since they were just happy that I was okay. Unfortunately, they called the police to report that I was missing... or thought that I was missing. They told me the police are going to want to talk to me. Ugh! I definitely did not need that! But I'm sure it was bound to happen considering everything. _

_Well, the whole story about the school was the biggest thing on the news. The entire town was buzzing about it. News crews from everywhere came in to cover the story. I watched a lot of it on TV that afternoon. And that's not even the worst part... the news and the police think you are involved in it, John. Actually, they think you and Henri are responsible for it! Can you believe that? They don't know about Henri. They think he's still... alive. Sorry, John. For some reason, the police linked you (and Henri) to what happened at the school. They said it was most likely a bombing of some sort. They think you're a terrorist, John! A terrorist! This is unbelievable! I'm sure by now, you probably know this. You probably saw it on the news and everything._

_They heard about your abrupt "escape" from school on Monday, when you jumped through the principal's window from his office. Yeah, "escape" is what they kept calling it. They searched your house and found the documents, the counterfeiting machines, and all the laptops. I guess the laptops were password protected because they couldn't access them. Not yet anyways. They're working on it though. I hope there wasn't anything on there that would lead them to believe that you are actually... well, you know. But because of all the stuff they found and your escape from school, they believe you are a terrorist, now on the run._

_Oh the story gets better, John. My parents were right, the police wanted to talk to me. They came by the house that same afternoon, picked me up, and brought me down to the station. When I got there, Mark was already waiting outside one of the offices. When I noticed the concerned look on his face, I realized he wasn't there just because his dad was working the case. They wanted to get information from him too! Fortunately, the deputy sat me down next to Mark when we got there. I guess he didn't feel it was a problem if we sat together before we were interrogated. I asked Mark if he told them anything, and he said no. I quickly told him what I told my parents so we could be on the same page, you know, have the same story and everything. He said he'd follow my story and tell them the same thing. Then a deputy came out, grabbed Mark, and brought to an interrogation room. Mark's dad came out, got me, and brought me to another room._

_Four hours, John. Four hours of them asking the same questions over and over. By the end of it, I had recited the same story so many times, I had committed it to memory. I believed the story so much, they could hook me up to a polygraph and I would pass it! It was the same questions, and I gave them the same answers. I told them I didn't know anything about forged documents or changed names or any attempts of terrorism. No secrets. They knew we were essentially dating and figured you might've told me something. I told them nothing. They did seem suspicious when I didn't appear too surprised when they told me about the documents and machinery they found at your house. I played it off like you had a reason for that and that it WASN'T because they think you're a terrorist. I told them I refused to believe that. They probably just think I'm a silly girl in love... which, I am... not silly, but definitely in love with you, John. It's fine. They can think whatever they want. I know the truth... the real truth!_

_When the police were finished questioning me, they let me out for a bathroom break. I saw Mark in the hallway, and he gave me an assuring nod. I was sure he didn't give up any information either. When I came out of the bathroom, a deputy led me back into the same room I was in for 4 hours. I asked him why I was back in here, I thought we were done. He said the police were done with me, but someone else wanted to talk to me now._

_I waited... and waited... and waited some more. I felt like someone was watching me the whole time. I just knew someone was on the other side of that mirror watching me... studying me. I'm sure there was someone there when Mark's dad was questioning me. But now I just knew... no, felt like someone was there. I could feel their eyes piercing through the glass and right through me. It was eerie. _

_After an hour of waiting (and being watched), a man walked through the door. He's tall, at least 6 feet or so. He wore black slacks, a dark polo shirt, and a dark blue windbreaker with "FBI" in big yellow letters on the back. He had jet black hair with streaks of gray mixed in. It was a high-and-tight type haircut, real close on the sides. Like a military cut. The top was slicked over to a side. Looked like he used a lot of gel or grease or oil. He was clean-shaven and wore a very straight and serious look on his face. He looked angry._

_He looked like he didn't like me at all! And as soon as he spoke, that confirmed it. He had no expression when he said in a very direct tone, "Miss Hart, I'm Special Agent-in-Charge Nathan Hecht of the FBI. I have a few questions concerning you, a terrorist allegedly-named John Smith, and an apparent bombing at your school. Would you like a lawyer present during this questioning?" _

_Terrorist?! Bombing?! Man, this guy was already on my bad side from the get-go! I told him no to the lawyer question. I figured I answered the police's questions without a lawyer, I would be fine repeating the same thing to the FBI. He said back with a snooty tone, "Fine Miss Hart, if you wish to proceed without a lawyer, that is your right." Ugh! This guy was such a jerk!_

_Anyway, he basically asked the same, stupid questions that the police asked and of course, I gave the same, exact answers. I guess the FBI has to do things bigger and better than the police because he kept me in there for 6 hours! I was stuck in that room for 6 hours with that man. Every time he looked at me with those cutting eyes, it felt like he was boring a hole right through my brain. It was hard to look him in the eyes, which was uncomfortable because it probably gave him the impression I was hiding something. I guess I was, huh? I was hoping to be able to pick up on some information about how they were going about their investigation, but I got nothing useful. He didn't give up any information at all. Although, it did seem like they didn't have many leads to go on since they were pressing me so much. The only thing I managed to find out was that the police couldn't get into your dad's... sorry, Henri's laptops. Mark's dad accidentally slipped that information out during the first interrogation._

_When the FBI finally realized they weren't getting any more information, they let me go. It was already past midnight, and I was exhausted. Extremely exhausted! I've been up for nearly the past 2 days! My dad was still waiting at the station and drove me home. When I got home, I went straight to my room and hit the bed. I was out before I could even think about changing clothes._

_I woke up around 6 o'clock that evening, the second day. I probably slept about 14 hours. Like I said before, I feel like I need to talk to someone. You're not here (obviously) and there's no one else to confide in, so this journal will have to do. So far it does seem to help. I'm glad the interrogations are over with... at least, I HOPE they're over with. I couldn't take anymore of that. _

_The only other thing I found out is that the FBI has taken over the investigation and is conducting the search for you and Henri. Again, I'm sure you know this by now since they have your picture plastered on just about every channel on TV. They still don't know about what happened to Henri. And the news is now saying that Sam is involved. They even have rewards set for your capture!_

_Yesterday, an announcement was made that the students from the school will be split up and transferred to some of the surrounding schools near Paradise. They'll let us know by tomorrow where we're going. We're supposed to start Monday. I'm not looking forward to that at all._

_I guess that's it for now. _

_I love you, John. Always._

_**Sarah_


	3. Chapter 3

**I Am Chapter THREE**

I close the composition book I'm using as a journal—or more like a collection of letters to John that I can never send to him. He's out there on the run ... running for his safety ... running for his life. He's probably constantly moving; there's no address to send him anything. No way of staying in contact. I know he has a phone with him, but under no circumstances can I call him. It would surely be traced somehow, and they would find him. The FBI. The Mogadorians. He could call me or text me, but that would be too risky. I'd love to hear from John but at the same time, I'd rather not right now because I know it's safer this way. And the worst thing he could do is try to come back here to see me. For his safety's sake, I hope he doesn't.

I wrap the journal in a shoe box and tie a ribbon around it. I make one of my fancy bows that I'm known for around Christmas time. I don't have a lockbox or anything like that to put the journal in for security. Besides, that might seem a little suspicious. A shoebox with a ribbon around it may seem less inconspicuous. With the ribbon and the fancy bow, I can tell if anyone disturbs it. I place the shoebox in a particular spot under my bed, committing to memory its exact position and location.

Like photography, writing is a passion and a means of therapy for me. They give me an escape I like to have at times. Before photography came along, writing was my number one love. Anything would do: poems, short stories, letters, and articles. I would always write for the school papers wherever I was at. I'd write about anything and everything. I was notorious for that. That's how I got into photography. When I started writing for the school paper in seventh grade, they wanted some pictures to go along with their articles. Being the enthusiastic one, I volunteered to take pictures. Needless to say, I fell absolutely in love with it right away. Since then, it has become my number one love. As long as I was writing or taking pictures, I enjoyed a certain level of freedom.

_Freedom?_

That word almost feels foreign to me now. I feel like any sense of freedom is so far out of reach that it's more of an illusion than a reality. News crews, police, and FBI agents cover the town. There isn't anywhere you can go without seeing one of them snooping around. And for me, it's impossible to go any place without being hounded by news people or being watched by police or FBI agents. I feel like everyone is watching me; even residents I've known for years stare at me with a sense of uncertainty and lack of trust.

It feels like the interrogation room that first day. I know I was being watched through that glass. I couldn't see through it, but I _knew_ someone was there. It's the same feeling when I'm outside the house. I can see the obvious onlookers, but I sure there are others watching. I can certainly feel them around... police, FBI, even the Mogadorians. Somehow I know the Mogs are watching too.

I shake the eerie thought away from me and pad downstairs to the living room. My dad is at work right now, and my mom is on the couch watching the news. Most of the schools shut down for a couple days—security precautions, they say—so my little sister isn't at school but in the kitchen, probably finding something to snack on. That sounds good right about now. It's about lunch time, and I am a little hungry. I make my way into the kitchen, unnoticed by my mom.

"Hey, Sarah," my sister says in almost a whisper, but with a loving grin on her face. She's fixing herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Hey yourself," I whisper back with a big grin. "What are you getting?" I ask, already knowing the answer but just making conversation.

"PBJ!" she exclaims. She ducks her head down and covers her mouth with her hand in an _oops_ gesture. "PBJ," she says again, this time in a whisper.

I can't help but giggle. She giggles back. "Why are we whispering?" I ask, not really knowing _why_ we are whispering.

She shrugs with both hands up. In one hand, she is holding a butter knife with jelly on it. The moment we both look at it, the jelly slides off the knife on plops onto the counter. We both start laughing. She always has a way of making me smile or laugh. Most of the time unintentional. "You want a PBJ?" she asks through her giggling.

"Yeah, I'll take one. But I don't want _that_ jelly." We look at the splattered mess on the counter and laugh some more.

I take a napkin and start cleaning up the mess. As I start to make my sandwich, she tells me that my two older brothers keep asking my parents if they should come home and help. I'm not exactly sure how they could help. She said my dad told them to stay at their colleges. There wasn't anything they could do here. Besides, as much as I love them and would like to see them, it's not worth interrupting their studies to just sit around here and do nothing. They were always protective of me and my sister. I guess that's the advantage of having two big brothers around. I do miss them though.

I finish making my sandwich, and we stay at the kitchen counter and eat our very messy but good peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I tease her about missing school and having a couple extra days off. She says she likes the vacation, but is sad that my school got "messed up." I told her I was sad too. More so of _why_ it got destroyed, and even more that John isn't here. But I don't tell her those parts. I just nod in agreement. She asks if I know where they're going to send me for school.

"I don't know. I haven't heard anything yet," I tell her. "We're supposed to find out today or tomorrow."

"I don't like being the new kid at school," she says while shaking her head.

"Me either," I admit. "Me either."

I guess my mom thinks I'm still upstairs in my room, because she drags out it in a loud voice, "Sarah ... can you come down here?" Not angry, just loud enough to hear it in from my room.

My sister and I lock eyes and then start laughing again. "Coming mom," I get out, stifling my laughter. I get up and walk into the living room.

"Oh, I thought you were in your room," she says looking back at me over the couch.

"What's up?"

"They're about to announce how they intend to split up the students and which schools they go to. I thought you might want to know."

"Yeah, I do. But I'm not looking forward to it," I admit. She tries to give me a comforting smile as I sit down on the couch next to her. My sister—still eating her PBJ—sits down on the other side of the couch.

The news woman comes back on the TV and begins a little background story of what they believed happened at the school. Although most of what she says is false, it's not something I wish to relive again. I look away from the TV and try to occupy my mind with other things. I still can't believe they think John is a terrorist and is somehow responsible for the school. Well, in a way he is but not like they say. _If they only knew the truth!_ If they did know the truth, things would be a lot worse for John than being wanted for terrorism. Being part of an alien race, the government would want to do experiments on him like some lab rat ... maybe even dissect him like the frogs in Biology.

I shake my head at the thought. My mom looks over at me as if to ask "what?" but gets distracted by the news woman making the important part of the announcement. She says the students from my school will be split up into four groups determined by their last names: A through F, G through L, M through R, and S through Z. My group is going to ColumbianaHigh School in—where else?—Columbiana, which is about 20 minutes from my "old" school.

"Why so far away?" I ask, thinking out loud and not really expecting an answer.

"I don't know, honey," my mom says in a sympathetic tone. Then she says with a more chipper tone, "I guess you're a Clipper now."

_Columbiana Clippers_ ... great. At least the school isn't that big. That could be a good thing: fewer students, less hassle. And Mark and Emily fall into my group as well. That's a plus. With Mark there, at least there's one person who has an idea of what I'm going through ... and knows the truth. And having my best friend, Emily, there should help. She doesn't know the truth about everything but at least I'll have someone else to talk to if I needed.

"I wonder if they'll have a bus over here to take you to school," my mom says.

"I'm not riding a bus all the way over there. I'll just drive," I say in a very determined tone.

"You sure, honey? It's a good ways from here."

"Oh, I'm definitely sure!" I say. "I'm already going to be a new kid at the school; I don't need the humiliation of having to ride the bus over there." I lean forward and say to my sister, "No offense, squirt."

She leans forward and gives me a toothy grin with peanut butter smashed in her teeth. I laugh to myself and shake my head as I sit back. _She's always making me laugh._

I turn to my mom, "Besides, I just want to blend in with everyone else there and go unnoticed. The less attention, the better."

Not happy with the school announcement, I tell my mom I'm going for a walk and I'll be back in an hour or so. Before I head out the door, I make a quick stop in my room to pick up a camera just in case I feel like snapping some pictures while I'm out.

It's clear outside, not a cloud in the sky. Even though the sun is shining full-force, the air is still very cool ... cold actually. Cold enough, in fact, to where I can see my own breath, the moist vapor turning into a white cloud with each exhale, floating into the air and vanishing. A very slight breeze blows around me, but I can still feel some warmth of the sun on my face. It feels good ... really comforting. I'm glad I grabbed my knitted gloves while I was in my room. Without them, my fingers would get too cold and shaky and my pictures wouldn't come out very well.

I've walked down my street a million times before, but I always admire the beauty that it holds. I think it's one of the prettiest streets in all of Paradise. I'm so glad my parents picked that house when we moved here. A conservative amount of trees line the properties along the street—not too many and not too little, just right. My mom, being in real estate, always said that the right trees on a property gives it character. I never really understood what she meant by that until I got into photography.

Being a small town, my mom's real estate agency didn't have the resources to take "professional looking" pictures of the properties she was selling. She always admired my photos and would ask me to take some pictures for her. I was more than happy to help especially if it helped her sell a house. It wasn't until I developed the pictures that I noticed what she was talking about.

In a small town, a lot of the houses tend to look alike: same size, same shape, same layout, same yard, and sometimes the same colors. After all, most of the houses were built by the same contractor—no imagination, I guess. The only thing that made one house different from another was the location—of course—and the yard ... or more specifically, what was _in _the yard.

As I started developing her pictures, I began to notice that it wasn't always about the house itself, but what was around it. A lot of the houses looked the same, but what made each property unique were the trees. You can copy a house on each property, but it was difficult to copy the same trees on each property. You can plant the same tree in each yard, but each one would eventually grow differently. It would have its own distinctiveness ... its own identity ... its own character.

In a way, these trees were a lot like people. No matter what school you went to or what town you lived in, it was the people in it and around it that gave it its personality ... its character. Without the people, it would just be a simple school or a mediocre town.

I must have really been in my own dream world because before I knew it, I found myself in the middle of the business district part of town. It sounds big but it's not. It isn't even that far from my house; it's definitely within walking distance. Even though I have my car, I like to walk to town. It's relaxing and it's good exercise.

"Wow," I say under my breath, "I already used up half a roll of film. I don't even remember what I took pictures of on the way here."

The business district really means one street lined with small shops on either side. I walk down one side of the street snapping pictures every now and then. At the right time of day, the smells are so perfect: the coffee from the café; the sweet, sugary smells of the pastry shop; the breads from the bakery; the popcorn from the theater; and even the clean linen smell from the laundry mat. I continue to take pictures of the shops across the street, catching the people as they move along their busy day.

I notice I've reached the end of my roll of film. If I don't develop the film myself, I usually take it to the local photo place across the street. They always do a good job. I cross the street and drop the film off. I tell them I'll be back in a couple of days to pick it up, no hurry. I'm a regular customer; they know me there.

When I notice that I've been gone almost two hours, I start to make my way back home.

Just when I feel that things are normal, I notice them: black cars and SUVs with dark, tinted windows—probably FBI—driving up and down the street. There's a local news crew off in the distance by the drugstore. It looks like they're interviewing people outside. Not wanting to be noticed by the news crew, I turn around quickly to head the other way.

_Oomph!_ It feels like I walked into a brick wall. I now see that it's a man who was apparently walking right behind me.

"I'm sorry," I say staring at his chest which is at my eye-level. He's a _very_ large man. I can hear him breathing deeply. "I didn't see you there," I add as I step aside to hurriedly walk around him.

He doesn't say a word; he barely even moves around me. He just keeps walking in the other direction.

_That was weird ... almost eerie._

Although I didn't get a good look at his face, he didn't seem familiar. From what I saw in that brief moment, he was wearing dark clothes and a long, black coat. When I look back over my shoulder, he's still walking away in the other direction. I see he's wearing a black baseball cap too.

I turn around to head in the opposite direction—away from the news crew ... away from the large, eerie man. As I'm about to cross a side street, a police car pulls up and blocks my path. Its bright red and blue lights are flashing on top of the car. I raise my hand to block the glare of the lights in my eyes. That's when I notice who is driving. It's Mark's dad.

"We've been looking for you," he says chidingly as if I've been hiding from everyone on purpose. "Your parents and Agent Hecht need you at the house."

_Ugghh!_ Just hearing his name—Agent Hecht—sends an uncomfortable chill down my spine. _What does he want? What is doing at my house?_ This does not sound good at all. I thought I was done with the FBI ... apparently not.

"You getting in or what?" he asks with a harsh tone. He sounds angry. I take it he didn't appreciate the order from Hecht to come look for me. I don't blame him; I wouldn't like to take orders from Hecht either. "Get in the back," he says.

_Yeah, he's definitely angry._

I get in the back of the police car—feeling like a criminal. I'm sure Mark's dad sees me that way: a criminal—aiding a "known" fugitive and terrorist by not telling him what I know about John. Actually, what he _thinks_ I know about John. He must have some sort of strong intuition because he insists I know more than I'm not letting on. Besides, he never liked me breaking up with Mark. And he definitely did not like me hanging out with John.

"What does Hecht want with me?" I ask innocently.

"You'll find out soon enough," he retorts back. In the rear view mirror, he eyes me with a contemplative look like he's deciding whether to tell me more.

_Is he grinning?_

"I think _Agent_ Hecht is going to assign someone to follow you around ... _everywhere_." He's probably telling me this in hopes it will worry me.

_Not working!_

He adds, "You know, for protection ... and surveillance, in case that terrorist, John Smith, tries to contact you."

_Okay, that worked._

I'm a little worried now, but I'm not letting him know that. "That's fine. I don't have anything to hide," I lie. I have _everything_ to hide. We ride in silence the rest of the way to my house.


	4. Chapter 4

**I Am Chapter FOUR**

_JOURNAL ENTRY: Day 5_

_Okay, just when I thought things could not get any worse, it does. I thought once the FBI was done interviewing... uh, I mean INTERROGATING me, they might leave me alone. WRONG! I don't think they're ever going to leave. Not only are they going through everything in town, but I have a bad feeling that they think you might actually come back here. I would really love to see you again, John, but it is absolutely NOT safe for you here. There are FBI agents everywhere!_

_Anyway, back to what I was saying... I don't think the FBI is going to leave me alone. And to prove it, they (or should I say Special Agent-in-Charge Nathan Hecht!) decided to assign an agent to me. Meaning... there is going to be a guy that follows me EVERYWHERE I go. When I go outside, go to the store, go to school, and probably when I go to the bathroom... he'll be there following me. They say it's for my protection. I told them "I don't need protection. No one is coming after me!" They insisted it was for protection, but I'm sure it's for surveillance. Besides, that's what Mark's dad said when he picked me up._

_Yeah, let me tell you about that. I was walking around in town the other day trying to get away from all the craziness going on, and Mark's dad pulls up in his police car... lights flashing and everything. He brings me back to the house and Hecht is waiting for me... waiting to drop the wonderful news on me. _

_He sits me down on the couch next to mom and dad and goes on this whole spiel about how things are dangerous for me, how people may come looking for me (I don't know who these "people" could be, but I don't dare interrupt), how my safety is of the utmost importance, and that in the interest of my family (and the FBI) they will be assigning an agent to me._

_This is so unnecessary. _

_Hecht introduces me to Agent Tatum, the guy who's going to be following me around._

_I try not to pass judgment on people too quickly before I get to know them, but this Tatum guy really creeps me out. He's about an average height and hardly has any hair on top of his head (I don't know if he cuts it that way of if the hair just doesn't grow). No facial hair except for his thick, light-brown eyebrow. Yes, that's "eyebrow" in the singular form. If there's any separation in between them, you can't tell because they're fused together so well. An upturned mouth, slightly sagging cheeks, and creased forehead complete the permanent scowl look on his face. Not to mention the unibrow that is pushed so low it acts like eyelids over his eyes. Oh, and then there's the eyes... shifty, beady, dark-brown eyes that are almost black. They're always jumping here and there as if he's always suspicious of something until he's deep in thought, like he's visualizing something when he's staring at you... or should I say staring at me. I get this very uncomfortable feeling when he stares at me. Like a hungry dog stares at a pile of meat it wants to devour._

_This guy is just plain creepy._

_And it's not so much his appearance that creeps me out, it's the way he acts. It's just... not right. I wonder how this guy ever got into the FBI. Even mom and dad have their reservations about him. I know this is supposed to be for "protection" and all, but give me some space PLEASE! Anywhere I go, he's there within 10 feet of me. I know he's just doing his job (which I hope that's all he's doing), but that doesn't mean he has to monitor every... single... thing... I... do! Good grief, man, BACK OFF!_

_If you could see this guy and how he acts... well, you wouldn't like it. You'd even be tempted to throw him across the room if you saw how he looks at me. Major creepiness here!_

_Anyway, enough about the creepy guy. Something else I wanted to mention... it's probably nothing but I don't know, it just seemed a little odd._

_That same day I was walking around town before Mark's dad picked me up in the police car, I had my camera with me randomly taking pictures along the way. Honestly, I wasn't paying too much attention to what I was snapping pictures of... I had so much on my mind at the time. I started at the house and before I knew it I was in the middle of town. I dropped the film off at the photo lab that day, and just picked it the pictures this morning. I was going through them: different houses along the way, lots of trees, the clouds, kids playing on the playground by the house, more trees... well, you get idea._

_All the pictures were very nice, beautiful even. But I noticed something strange in a few of them. I mean, I got snapshots of different people in background doing their daily stuff which is normal. But in some of the pictures, the same guy would be somewhere in the background. And I know it's the same guy because I've seen him before. I couldn't really explain what he looked like, but I know it's him. He had on dark colored clothes, probably black, and a black coat. Even in the pictures, I can't get a glimpse of his face. He was either too far away or the black baseball cap hid his face enough to not see it. _

_Like I said, I had A LOT on my mind while I was walking so I wasn't paying too much attention to what was around me or what I was talking pictures of. I steadily took pictures as I walked from my house to town so the pictures, in their own way, show everything along the way. And what's odd (or probably more like eerie looking back at it now) is that the guy in the black coat is there all along my walk. From leaving my house to ending up in town... he was in the pictures. It's like he was following me. I didn't even notice if he was, obviously, until looking at these pictures days later. And I seriously doubt if he's an FBI agent. I've seen a lot of them around (and believe me, there's a lot) and he doesn't look like any of them. There's something different about this guy... mysterious even._

_And yeah, I saw him before because I ran into him... literally. I was walking down the street and saw a news crew ahead so I quickly turned around to avoid them and walked right into the man. I stepped around him, apologized and moved on. I had no clue someone was even behind me. He didn't say anything, just paused and kept on walking. After seeing him in the pictures and the more I think about it, I'm sure he was following me on the street. No telling what he was up to. I haven't seen him since, but I haven't really been looking either. I'll be looking now. I'll glance out of my bedroom window every now and then just to see if he's out there... somewhere. The only thing I find are kids playing and cars and SUVs parked along the street. I hope I don't run into him again._

_If he's not FBI, then who is he? Why is he following me? I wish you were here right now, John. Well, I do and I don't... you understand, I hope. I just feel safer when you're around, even if there are Mogadorians chasing us. At least we'd be together... that's what I want most. Us... safely together._

_I love you, John. Always._

_**Sarah  
JOURNAL ENTRY: Day 8_

_It is days like yesterday and today that make me miss you the most, John. I could use a good hug from you right now... even your shoulder to cry on. Yes, it's that bad. I started at the new school yesterday, and it was absolutely horrible!_

_You know what it's like being a new kid at school... but imagine having a creepy-acting FBI agent following you around school. He sits in every single class I'm in, sits at the same table at lunch, and he even runs behind me during gym. I can actually get a little joy out of that last one. All that hiking I've done with my aunt in Colorado has kept me in shape for the most part, so when I run I don't go casually... I try to push it. It's fun watching him try to keep up. He's not in great shape for an FBI agent. He probably doesn't have to do too much running._

_Here's another funny story, one of very few that I have right now. I've been driving to and from school in my own car, and Tatum has been following me in his car. I'm so glad he's not forced to ride with me. But after yesterday, I think that might change. I was so aggravated the first day that on the way home after school, I decided to have a little fun. Of course, Tatum is new in town so he doesn't know his way around to well. I do. On the way home, I tried to lose him... and I did! It was hilarious! I went through a lot of back roads and shortcuts. He lost me and got turned around. I was laughing so hard. I got home and acted like everything was normal. About an hour later, Tatum shows up... he was so angry it was hard not to laugh. His face was so red and his eyes would just glare at me. I'm surprised he didn't say anything to me. I would say he tried to embarrass me even more today because of that, but he would've done that nonetheless._

_Anyway, he's very noticeable when he follows me around school. Everyone stares at me when I walk through the halls or sit at lunch. The only other comfort I have is that Mark and Emily are there with me. And really, they are the only people I talk to. Everyone else stays clear of me, but I can hear them whispering things. I'm sure it's about me. Or the creepy guy. Or both._

_You might figure with this so-called 24/7 "protection," that I would feel like some celebrity or superstar, but it's the total opposite. I feel like a criminal who is constantly being watched. I may not be surrounded by bars, but I feel like I'm in a prison. Even when I go to the bathroom, he feels the need to follow me in there to make sure everything is fine. I mean, what's going to happen, really? It's a bathroom! I'm just grateful the principal is a woman and when she heard of this, she put a stop to it. She said there was no way a man was going to be allowed in a girl's bathroom in school. I thanked her for that, but I could see she treated me indifferently too. Not like the other students (or even teachers), but it was noticeable... like she was trying to remain diplomatic in this situation. _

_I'm just tired of it. I try not to think about what other people say, but it's difficult to ignore. Everywhere I look, I see it: the snickering, the sneering, the cold looks and whispering. I thought I would be able to blend in and go unnoticed... no chance. Not going to happen. Everyone knows who I am and what I'm "involved" in. At least what they think I'm involved in. The video of us escaping the fire that night at Mark's house is all over the internet. Sometimes they treat me like a terrorist._

_After today, I couldn't take it anymore. I just felt more and more uncomfortable around Tatum. Something needed to change. I told mom and dad how I felt and how he acts around me. They didn't like it either. They were pretty furious, actually. They talked to Hecht and tried to convince him to assign a different agent to me. After a lot of "convincing" (and complaining), Hecht finally agreed. He said he'd send a new agent over in the morning before school. I was actually surprised he did something good for once... for me. I still don't like the guy though. Anyways, I hope it gets better tomorrow. _

_Not a lot has been going on in the news about you and Sam. (Wow, I didn't realize how much I miss Sam too.) They haven't mentioned anything new, so I take it you're laying low somewhere. That's good. Less attention, the better. I wish I could hear from you to know that everything and everyone is alright... but I know that would not be safe. So, I will just have to HOPE that you are fine and safe... wherever you are right now._

_I love you, John. Always._

_**Sarah_


	5. Chapter 5

**I Am Chapter FIVE**

Normally 5AM is too early to get up, but I've always been an early riser. Plus, not being able to sleep at night doesn't help either. The nightmares continue to haunt me, so it's easy for me to look forward to the mornings. And besides, I'm getting a new agent to follow me around today.

_Yay! Not. _I'd like to say he's got to be better than the last one, but I don't want to jinx it.

I get up, make my bed, and get my clothes ready for the day. I keep it simple: light blue jeans, a white button-up shirt, and a dark gray sweater with sleeves that seem too long—but I like them that way. I tend to hold on to the cuffs; I think it's a security thing. I pull my hair into a ponytail, grab my books, and pad downstairs to the kitchen.

One of the things I like about being up so early is the quiet stillness of the house. No commotion and no noise. It's one of the rare times I can just enjoy some amount of peace. Everything is usually so hectic throughout the day. This morning, my parents are already up and sitting in the kitchen. I hear them talking but I also hear another voice. A man's voice. A familiar voice.

"Good morning, Miss Hart." It's Hecht. That just ruined my morning.

"It was," I say lazily. "So when is the new agent supposed to be here?"

"Shortly. He's on the way."

"So," my dad cuts in, "is there any new developments in the investigation, Agent Hecht?"

"Nothing so far, Mr. Hart. Things seem to be fairly quiet right now. Don't worry, we'll catch them—"he looks directly at me"—one way or another." He smiles.

_I really hate this guy._

I roll my eyes, turn, and leave the room. I sit on the couch in the living room. The news is on the TV. I watch the weather person going through his motions of today's forecast, but I don't hear a word he's saying. My thoughts are on John: missing him; wondering what he's doing and where he's at; hoping he's safe; and wishing I could see him again.

After several minutes, I hear my parents and Hecht get up from the kitchen table. I see them walking out towards the front door, Hecht leading the threesome.

"What's going on?" I ask. My heart starts beating a little harder.

"They're here," Hecht says without looking at me.

"Really? I didn't hear the—"and the doorbell rings, cutting me off.

I mute the TV and walk towards the foyer. Hecht opens the door—like it's _his_ house—and in walks this very large man. He looks to be in his late 40s with salt-and-pepper colored hair that's in a buzz cut, and he's built like a tank. I don't mean muscular; he's not overweight but just has a very large frame. He looks like he could lift a small car if he really wanted to. Black and gray stubble line his squared jaw, and his hazel eyes survey the room taking in all the details. A serious expression seems like a permanent fixture on his face. As he and Hecht shake hands, I notice how large his hands are. One hand could probably cover my entire face with ease.

_I hope this is not the new agent!_ I look over at Hecht and he's just grinning at me like, _you asked for it._

Hecht looks to my parents and introduces the man as Detective Will Murphy. He says Murphy was responsible for making sure the new agent arrived here without any problems.

_Whew, he's NOT the one._ A wave a relief surges over me.

"So, where is he at?" Hecht asks looking behind Murphy.

Murphy huffs a short laugh. "She's coming," Murphy says emphasizing the _she_.

"_She_?" Hecht straightens up and says almost in growl, "What happened to McBane?"

"Palmer sent someone else instead."

"Palmer..." Hecht looks down at the ground shaking his head. "I don't like it when those boys get involved in _my_ investigations." Hecht sighs. "Who did Palmer send over?"

Murphy gives a crooked smile and raises an eyebrow as if saying, _take a guess_.

At that moment, we hear footsteps coming up the porch. All of us turn our attention to the door and in walks in a tall woman wearing white Nike running shoes and a purple warm-up suit with white pinstripes down the sides. She has an athletic build, her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she looks like she just finished running. She takes her pulse and looks at her watch as she walks through the door. No one says a word—not even Hecht. He just looks at her—no, he glares at her. Apparently they know each other. She stops in the foyer and continues taking her pulse. After a few seconds, she finally looks up.

"Good morning," she says. "How's everyone doing?" She smiles, a very warm and welcoming smile.

Agent Hecht clears his throat and begins the introductions. He turns to my parents, "Mr. and Mrs. Hart," he turns to me and narrows his eyes, "Miss Hart," and he turns to the female agent, "this is Agent Gloria Ducei." We shake hands.

Agent Gloria— _what?_

"I'm sorry. What was that last name again?" my mom asks.

"Ducei," Hecht replies effortlessly like it's not a big deal.

My mom and I share the same expression: _How do you say that?_

The female agent sees our expressions and gives a slight laugh. "It's Ducei ... like saying 'do' and 'sigh' together: Ducei. But you can call me Gloria," she finally says.

"Is that French or something?" my mom asks.

"It's..." Gloria pauses. "It is a foreign name."

Hecht cuts his eyes over at Gloria then looks at me. "Agent Ducei is assigned to you now, Miss Hart ... and there will not be anymore changes. Understood?"

"You're in charge," I say, a smirk on my face and a slightly sarcastic tone. I peek over at Gloria as she gives me an approving smile.

"Well," Gloria cuts in, "now that the introductions are out of the way, I'll be back at seven to officially start the day." She turns to head out the door.

"Agent Ducei," Hecht cuts in, obviously annoyed by her self-dismissal. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I am going to run back to the motel, shower, and change clothes. You don't want me working in _this_, right?" She holds her arms out displaying her warm-up suit. Her tone is direct but not disrespectful. "Besides, I don't officially start until 7AM ... that gives me another hour." She turns, steps around Murphy, and jogs out the door and down the street. She doesn't even wait for Hecht to say anything else. She just leaves. I'm beginning to like her already.

Hecht clears his throat again, "Yes, Agent Ducei will be back at seven to pick you up." He looks directly at me.

"Pick me up?" I ask. "Why? I normally drive to school."

"After your little stunt with Agent Tatum, I don't think so. Agent Ducei will be driving you from now on." He puts his hand up, stopping me before I can say anything else. "It's not a request and it's not up for discussion, Miss Hart. Get used to it." He nods to my parents and then gestures to Murphy that it's time to go. They turn and head out the door.

Something tells me Hecht doesn't like Gloria for some reason. At least she's not another Tatum or Murphy.

At 6:45AM, the doorbell rings; it's Gloria. In place of her warm-up suit, she now wears: black, low-cut boots, dark slacks, a beige top with a low cut neckline, and a lightweight beige jacket that barely conceals the gun and holster attached to her belt. Her auburn hair falls in loose curls to the middle of her back. A modest amount of make-up, sharp eyebrows, and a slightly elongated face add to her already attractive image.

I always thought they only looked like that in the movies. I now stand corrected. Gloria looks like she just stepped off the silver screen.

"Sorry for being early," she says. "We can wait a little while to leave if you want to."

"No, that's okay," I say. "We can go now. It takes about 20 minutes or so to get there."

"Sounds good." She smiles, a warm friendly smile. "Ready when you are."

I grab my books and follow her out the door. We climb in the standard-government-issued black SUV. I ask her if she knows the way; she does. After riding in silence for a few minutes, I feel like I should make conversation.

"So, Agent ... _Ducei_? Did I say that right?" I ask, making small talk.

"You got it," she says with an approving smile.

"That's actually kind of cool. I like it," I add.

She laughs. "Thanks. I like it too."

"What's up with Hecht anyways?" I ask. "He doesn't seem to like you very much." I don't know why I blurted that out. But she didn't seem affected by the thought of it.

"He doesn't," she says flatly. "Sometimes I think Hecht is a different breed of his own. Unfortunately, we've worked together on similar cases before."

"Who's Palmer?" I ask. Again, the words roll off my tongue before I realize what I'm saying. She just seems so easy to talk to.

"Who?" she asks. "Where'd you hear that name?"

I suddenly feel like I've overstepped my boundaries. I reluctantly say, "Oh ... I um ... heard Detective Murphy say it. He said Palmer sent you. And it sounded like Hecht doesn't care for him very much either."

She smiles like this thought is funny. "Palmer is _my_ boss. We're in..." she pauses for a moment. "We're in a _different_ section than Hecht. And no, he doesn't care for Palmer at all."

_Different section? What kind of section?_

I get ready to ask about it, but Gloria says, "Is it okay if I just drop you off at the front of the school?"

The question catches me off-guard.

"Oh, um ... you're not coming inside with me?" I sound like a first-grader going to class without my mom.

"No," she laughs. "I have some things to take care of. You'll be okay, right?"

"Sure. Yeah, I'll be fine. I just thought ... since the other agent..."

"Sarah," she looks at me. "I don't need to shadow you _everywhere_ you go." There's that friendly smile again. "I'm not Tatum, and I'm certainly not Hecht. I'm sure you'll be fine at school."

I still want to ask what she meant by "different section", but I keep the conversation on something else.

"So, where are you from?" I ask. "You said 'Ducei' was foreign."

"For the most part, I'm from Southeast Asia. I tend to move around a lot."

For a brief moment, I notice a quick glimpse of sadness in her eyes. But that changes as we near the school. Now the sadness is in my eyes.

"Here we are." Gloria says, pulling up to the front of the school. She notices my changed expression. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"School hasn't been the greatest place in the world for me right now. The other students are relentless at reminding me what kind of person they think John is. It hasn't been easy."

"Since when has high school ever been easy?" she asks, trying to cheer me up.

"True."

"Besides, they can have their _opinions._ You know the truth, right?"

I smile. I know she's right.

"You got this, Sarah," she says. "I'll be back this afternoon to pick you up. Here's my number"—she hands me her card with a hand-written number on the back—"if you need _anything_ at all, don't hesitate to call."

After I thank her, I climb out of the SUV and head to my first class.

•••

For the most part, the rest of the day is uneventful. Despite the usual snickering and evil stares by the other students, the day isn't that bad. I am just thankful I don't have a creepy guy following me all over the school. Although, I will miss making Tatum run after me during gym class. I couldn't do that with Gloria. She'd probably run laps around me. I still can't get over her nonchalant attitude when dealing with Hecht. That in itself makes me like her all the more.

At lunch, I sit with Emily and Mark—as usual. They are really the only friends I have at this school. Mark knows the truth about John, so it's not a surprise that he would still talk to me. Emily still doesn't know and still stays at my side. Now that's a true friend. Everyone else still treats me like a disease—even the ones that _were_ my friends before everything happened. I guess this really shows whom I can really rely on.

After school, Gloria picks me up at the front of the school—right on time too. She asks about my day, and I tell her about the good things—which aren't much, but I avoid the negative things. I want to ask her what she did all day, but she probably wouldn't tell me. Instead, I make small talk; I ask about her job, her interests, and they places she's been. She's really free to talk about those things which set me at ease. She's very easy to talk to.

•••

The next two days are the same: Gloria drops me off at school; she does her thing while I'm at school; she picks me up—right on time; and we ride home and talk the whole way. We talk about everything—well, _almost_ everything. And we talk about nothing.

In the three days I've spent with Gloria, she feels more like a friend than an agent who's been assigned to me. I still don't understand why I _need_ someone following and watching me all the time. I assume by now the FBI's interest in me would've died down. But it hasn't. For some strange reason, it seems like they think John might come back to Paradise. And it almost feels like I'm the bait. And there hasn't been any breaking news that involves John, Sam or Six.

_Maybe they're long gone by now. Maybe they're out of the country. Maybe the Mogs..._

I shake that thought from my mind before it takes hold. I refuse to believe anything close to that.

_But ... if the Mogs did get to them, how would I even know?_

A cold shiver runs down my spine. It's thoughts like these that keep me up at night.

"Don't give up hope just yet," I tell myself out loud sometimes. Those were Henri's words to John once...

Now they're mine.


	6. Chapter 6

**I Am Chapter SIX**

I always look forward to my weekends—especially Saturdays. They're usually so relaxing. If I'm not spending the day with John, I usually hang out with Emily or I curl up on my bed with a really good book—sometimes I'll even read a not-so-good book. Reading is another one of my passionate indulgences. Like photography and writing, it's a great escape for me—and right now, I could really use an escape.

This first week at ColombianaHigh School was ... interesting.

_Ah, who am I kidding?_ It sucked! Plain and simple.

It's not so much the other students' attitudes towards me, but the things they say about John. That's what upsets me the most. I try not to let it bother me so much. Sometimes I'm successful, and sometimes I'm not.

I slowly roll out of bed taking the soft cotton sheets and duvet with me. Although the comfort of the bed is enticing me to stay, I resist and stand at the window in my room. The sky is clear outside and a light snowfall has left the ground moist with small patches of snow here and there. The wind seems to be calm, and it doesn't appear to be too cold outside. Through the bare tree that stands outside my window, I notice the streets are fairly empty: only two cars and a black SUV in sight. I can also see the playground off in the distance. During the spring and summer, the playground is full of kids. Now in the winter, it sits empty and quiet.

_One of my favorite places to read!_

Usually I make my bed right after I get up, but not today. I throw my sheets and duvet back on the bed and leave them as-is right where they land. I change clothes, pick out one of my favorite books, grab a camera and a bag, and head downstairs to get something to eat before I go out.

Halfway down the stairs, I hear voices coming from the kitchen: my mom's, my dad's, Gloria's, and...

_Hecht. What is he doing here?_

I slowly—and quietly—make my way down the rest of the stairs. I slide past the kitchen door unnoticed and put my bag down on the couch in the living room.

I notice the news on the TV; it seizes my complete attention when I hear the anchorwoman say, "...possibly linked to the terrorists Henri and John Smith and Sam Goode."

I slowly sit in utter disbelief, my mouth gaping open.

_What is going on? What happened?_

As if hearing my thoughts, the anchorwoman proceeds to tell the story again:

_Yesterday just outside of Jamestown, Tennessee, two police helicopters were apparently shot down and destroyed. Fortunately, both pilots and others on board miraculously survived the crash. Local law enforcement officials have stated the individuals responsible were 2 male teenagers and 1 female teenager. The 2 male teenagers were later identified as John Smith and Sam Goode_—pictures of them flash on the screen—_which are already wanted by the FBI for terrorism for the destruction of Paradise High in Ohio. They are also wanted in connection with the 5 deaths linked to that event. _

_The teens were pulled over by local police on a routine traffic stop yesterday. After being identified, the teens abandoned the stolen vehicle and fled the scene. Law enforcement chased the suspects on foot through the woods. No weapons were found, but several law enforcement personnel were injured in the chase. These individuals are to be considered armed and dangerous..._

I can't believe what I'm hearing. All this can't be happening. Although the anchorwoman continues on, I tune her out when I hear the voices in the kitchen get louder.

"Because of the events yesterday," I overhear Hecht saying, "their wanted level has drastically increased."

"So what does that mean?" I hear someone ask, I think it was my mom.

"For one, it means the reward for them has gone up," Hecht says. "And two, now they are wanted ... dead or alive."

My breath catches in my throat as I gasp, letting out a short but loud yelp. I quickly bring my hands to my mouth, hopefully covering anymore screams of disbelief that try to emerge.

_Dead or alive ... that can't be!_

As I sit motionless and in stunned silence, I hear the voices get quiet in the kitchen. The sound of a chair slides back from the table and someone walks into the living room. My eyes are still locked on John's picture on the screen. The person who walked in approaches slowly around the couch and sits down next to me. She gently lays a hand on my back.

"Are you okay, Sarah?" asks Gloria, in a concerned and quiet tone.

With my eyes still looking at John's picture, I say, "Dead—"I swallow what feels like a golf ball in my throat"—or alive, Gloria. How can that be?" Tears form at the corners of my eyes.

"Listen Sarah, they will do everything they can to try and capture John alive. There's too much information that they want to even consider—" her voice falters momentarily "—to consider the alternative."

"But it _is_ an option," I look directly into her eyes, tears running down my cheeks, "isn't it?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Her eyes confirm the truth.

I let my face fall into my hands as I sob uncontrollably.

_First, the Mogs want to kill John. And now, the FBI wants to._

As the sobbing continues, Gloria pulls me towards her with an arm around my shoulder, comforting me.

"Agent Ducei," bellows Hecht from the kitchen door.

I can feel Gloria make a gesture with her other hand as if saying, _not now!_ After a couple seconds, I hear Hecht retreat back to the kitchen, huffing something under his breath.

I hear Gloria say in a barely audible tone, "I really don't like him sometimes."

This manages to bring a stifled laugh through my now-slowed sobbing.

"Sometimes?" I ask, a faint smile creeping across my face.

Gloria gives a half-smile. "Most of the time, I don't let him get to me. But sometimes..." she pauses.

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

We sit in silence. I try to rationalize the thought in my head: The Mogs have been trying to kill John this whole time and it doesn't affect me as much as knowing that the FBI is now free to kill him. With everything that is now going on, they may actually do it. If John gets confronted, I know he's going to try and escape. His resistance could lead to...

"Everything is going to be fine, Sarah." Gloria's voice breaks my train of thought. "It's a rare occurrence if they ever have to resort to actually..." her words hang in the air as if she doesn't want to say it. She shifts her position to face me. "Sarah, they will do everything they can to bring him in _alive_. The only reason they would consider the alternative is if John poses a threat to them or any civilians."

"Well, they already consider him a terrorist," I snap back, not realizing my tone sounds harsh. I take a deep breath. "I mean, isn't that bad enough?"

"Yes, it _is_ bad, but they also want answers and any information they can get from him." Her tone sounds honest and reassuring. "Believe me; they're going to want to ask him a lot of questions. They want him alive."

"Does _Hecht_ want him alive?" I ask, the harsh tone resurfacing once again.

"That ... I honestly can't answer. I'm sorry."

Hecht walks in the room. "Agent Ducei, can I see you in the kitchen?" he asks, but it sounds more like an order.

Gloria gives me a pat and a squeeze on my knee as she gets up. After she's in the kitchen, I hear them talking quietly. I can't make out what they're saying. I continue to watch the news on the TV. They're still talking about John and Sam. Now they're adding in "an unidentified female teenage accomplice."

_That's Six._

"What is six?" asks Hecht.

His voice startles me. I turn around to see him standing in the doorway. I'm at a loss for words. How did he know what I was thinking?

"It sounded like you said 'That's six.'" He stares at me. No, he stares through me waiting for me to answer.

Evidently I said that out loud and didn't realize it. "I said 'That stinks.'" I lie. I look back at the TV. "This whole thing stinks! John is NOT a terrorist! He isn't out to hurt anyone! Why can't you realize that?"

My emotions begin to swell up. I didn't mean to go on like that, but once I started I couldn't stop. And now, the tears begin to fall again. I get up to go to my room to calm down but Hecht stops me.

"Come in here," he says, gesturing towards the kitchen. "We need to talk."

•••

The next two hours feel like a reenactment of my interrogation the first day. But this time, my parents and Gloria are present and I'm given the luxury of sitting in my own kitchen.

First, Hecht asks me the same questions he did the first time around. If the questions weren't the same word-for-word, they were similar but just worded differently. Of course, I gave the same exact answers.

Second, he begins drilling me about Mark. He asks about our past together—like that has anything to do with all this. I tell him the truth; there's nothing to hide concerning that.

Next, he asks about school. _He doesn't want to even know what I have to say about that!_ But I voice my thoughts; I really go off on him about Agent Tatum and the things I had to put up with him.

"That's irrelevant, Miss Hart." He dismisses it like it's nothing. "What else?"

I tell him very little else about school. The student's attitude towards me wouldn't make any difference to Hecht.

"Have you noticed any strange individuals following you around town or at school?" he asks.

"Well, isn't that _your_ job to notice that kind of thing?" My disdain is clearly exhibited.

Hecht gives me a distasteful look and waits.

In the silence, I remember the man in black with the baseball cap. "No Agent Hecht." I cross my arms on my chest. "I have not," I lie, again.

Next, he tells me (and my parents) the importance of surveillance around town. If we see anything or anyone out of the ordinary, we should report it. If we feel in danger, we need to tell him. If we're approached by anyone other than FBI personnel ... blah, blah, blah...

_Okay, we get it, move on._

He tells me—with a self-satisfying smile—that security will increase around here. Gloria will stay at the house now instead of in town. This way she can be closer to me in case anything should happen. I don't mind Gloria staying here; that will actually make it easier on her.

Finally, he explains the "dead-or-alive" situation. To my surprise, he says what Gloria told me: They _do_ want John alive.

"But if he gets hostile," Hecht says sternly, "we will subdue him by any means necessary."

_By any means necessary!_

These words jog my memory. I remember the drive home after John left that morning almost two weeks ago. Mark said we need to help keep John alive ... "by any means necessary." That is the most important thing right now: Putting everything else aside to do whatever we can to keep John alive. I can't do anything about the Mogs wanting to kill John. But, maybe I can do something about the FBI having to do it.

_But how?_

"Sarah." My mom's voice and her touch on my arm interrupt my thoughts.

"What?" I ask in a haphazard daze. I missed everything else Hecht had said.

Hecht cuts his eyes at me and wraps up his speech. He mentions the severity of the situation and the danger we could be in. He takes Gloria into the living room and talks to her privately. My parents and I sit quietly at the kitchen table. Both of them have worried looks on their faces.

My dad slowly shakes his head. "I had a feeling that boy might be trouble. John Smith—"

"Dad, please!" I cut in abruptly. "Don't start with that!" I stand up so fast, the chair flips onto its back. "You have _no_ idea—" I stop myself from saying anymore. I storm out of the kitchen, grab my bag from the couch—walking right between Hecht and Gloria, and not caring—and walk out the front door.

I know what my dad was going to say, and I didn't want to hear it. They may not know the truth about John, but I would at least _hope_ they would support me and not turn on him. Both of them! I thought they really liked John, but because of everything that's happened and the apparent influence the FBI has over them, I think they are beginning to believe he is a terrorist. I'm losing any support I have.

The late afternoon air is clear and crisp but not too cold. The snow patches on the ground I saw earlier this morning have melted away. All that remains are puddles. My hopes feel like they're melting away too...

_No Sarah! You will not lose hope. You will get through this. And you will find a way to keep John alive ... keep him safe! You have to!_


	7. Chapter 7

**I Am Chapter SEVEN**

_JOURNAL ENTRY: Day 16_

_The last few days have been stressful... and that's putting it lightly. I haven't written in a while because of that: stress at home, stress at school, and stress in between. Where do I start?_

_HOME:_

_Well, for one, my parents are now on the FBI's side concerning your status as a terrorist. After what happened in Tennessee with the helicopters and police, they now believe you are dangerous... especially to me! Can you believe that? They met you, they talked to you, and they've seen you with me! They know you make me happy! But now their opinion of you has changed. _

_I'm sure Hecht has some influence on them as well. My parents are starting to believe anything and everything he says. It's frustrating to have them turn on you like that. And they aren't the only ones. (I'll get to that a little later.) So now when I'm not being harassed by Hecht or any of his other agents, I now get an earful from my parents. Wonderful, right? I know it's nothing compared to what you must be going through. I do worry about you... all the time. Especially when I heard the news about the Tennessee incident, I almost fell to pieces. I know you did what you had to do, at the same time trying not to hurt anyone. I wish they would know that. But I don't think they would believe it anyway. Everyone seems determined to capture you or... worse._

_Anyways, there's really no one here I can talk to about anything I'm thinking... except for this journal, which I keep making it sound like I'm talking to you, John. I don't know... it just feels more natural this way. Sometimes I wish you could read it so you would know what all was going here: in town, in the house, and in my head. But then again, you have enough things to worry about! _

_I don't mean to rant, but I just wanted to update you on what the home life was like right now. My parents have made it "crystal-clear" that they do not want me seeing you anymore. To hear them say that really broke my heart. I love you so much John... and I want to be with you so bad... it hurts to know that my parents openly object to those ideas and feelings. It doesn't change how I feel though... I still love you and want you! But it's still sad to know they feel that way. I'll be 18 soon and they won't be able to tell me what I can or can't do after that. Wow, listen to me... Sarah the Rebellious One!_

_SCHOOL:_

_Wow, where do I begin? Like I ranted before, the first week was hell! Especially with creepy-agent Tatum following me around. But that's gotten a lot easier with Gloria. (Oh wow! That's right! I haven't told you about Gloria. Remind me later, okay?)_

_Back on topic now... I still get the cold-shoulder treatment and the odd stares from everyone else, but I've kind of gotten use to it (...kind of). Now because of the new developments and your increased wanted level, all the kids are starting again... AND kicking it up a notch._

_I can pretty much handle (actually, IGNORE) the other students when they say things about me. But, it's difficult when they constantly talk bad about you. I promise, you would think they were in elementary school the way they carry on. One of the biggest things they do is call you names: Con Smith, Bomb Smith (this is unfortunately popular), Saigon John (I know, some are stupid), John Scythe, and John Sh... (I'm sure you can imagine this one). And these are only a small example of what they say about you. And really, they don't say it to me directly (most of the time), but they use these "names" when they talk about you in general to each other. It's AGGRAVATING!_

_And of course, they still talk bad about me. That's usually when I REALLY try to ignore them and the things they say. I still hear some of it... and it still hurts a little, but I get over it. It's amazing how immature they can act! School really sucks right now. No, let me correct that... school doesn't suck it's the kids at school that suck! ...to put it plainly._

_IN BETWEEN:_

_With Gloria driving me to and from school, these times aren't so bad. (I know. I haven't forgotten. I'll tell you about her in a minute. Remind me again, though.) But it's mostly the other times when I'm out that things get... uncomfortable. _

_Just going into town for groceries or whatever, people really talk bad about you. I'm not saying that people were on your side or believed you were innocent when all this stuff began, but now you can really tell that they are against you. That hurts me too because I hear the awful things they say... behind my back AND to my face. _

_The FBI has me paranoid now too. They keep asking me if I notice anyone following me. It has me looking around all the time now. I try not to let it bother me, but it does. It's stressing to think someone could be following me... and for what, I don't know. Maybe they think they can get to you through me... or worse, by something happening to me. You can't let them do that, John. No matter what, you can't come back here until all this is over. No matter how bad I want to see you and no matter how bad you want to see me, YOU CAN'T COME BACK! Not now, anyways. It's just not safe._

_The whole town seems like they're out to get you. Of course, having that huge bounty on your head doesn't help matters either. Sam too! OMG, don't even get me started with that... you don't want to know the things they say about him! That hurts more than what they say about me. You'd really be pissed at what they say. I hope Sam's doing okay. You watch out for him, John Smith! Don't let anything happen to Sam!_

_Security, surveillance, and suspicion have certainly increased in the last few days. Everyone is on edge. Except for Gloria..._

_GLORIA:_

_Okay, you're probably thinking "Who the heck is Gloria?" She's the agent that replaced Tatum. To make a long story short (and sorry I didn't fill you in on this before), Gloria came in after we complained to Hecht about— Tatum. Actually, she was "sent" in by someone higher-up than Hecht. Why her? I don't know. But I'm glad it's her! She is really, really nice. You'd like her. She doesn't look like a typical FBI agent. At least not how I would expect one to look and she's a lot easier to get along with._

_Hecht has her driving me to school everyday, which is fine. We talk a lot and that helps get my mind off certain things. I don't mind going places with her... actually, she goes places with me since she's supposed to be following me around. But she doesn't hover over me like Tatum always did. She gives me some space. She doesn't act like the other agents either._

_You know... I just realized that she never really talks bad about you. I've never heard her call you a terrorist or anything like that. She always calls you John. And she doesn't want to see you get hurt... or worse. She always says "they" when she refers to the FBI. I mean, she is part of the FBI. She doesn't say "we" as if she isn't included in Hecht's plans. I wonder if she knows something..._

_I'm probably just looking into it too much. She couldn't possibly know the truth. Could she? How could she know? Nah... it must be my imagination._

_Okay, John. It's getting late, and I have tests tomorrow: Pop Quiz Thursday! Yay! ...NOT! _

_Stay safe... wherever you are. And know..._

_I love you, John. Always._

_**Sarah_

_JOURNAL ENTRY: Day 19_

_Wow, another update. You're back in the news again!_

_Now they're talking about the house explosion by Lake George in Florida that happened yesterday. They say they don't have any real evidence, but they are linking it to you, Sam, and Six. Yeah, they know "about" Six, but they don't know who she is. The news people keep referring to her as the "unidentified female accomplice." The reports say there isn't any trace of explosive materials or weapons. They can't tell what caused the explosion or the other burn marks around the property. But, they strongly believe you were involved. It's the same story for the school. They say it's the same burn marks in both places so that definitely places you at both scenes. I'm guessing those burn marks came from Mog swords or guns. I know they were there, John. I saw the news about the house explosion on TV, and even I recognized the marks. They were the same as the ones at the school... I remember. I hope you got out of there quickly and safely! The FBI sent a lot of agents down there to investigate... and I mean A LOT! They said this is their biggest lead on tracking you down. They believe they're getting close. I hope they're wrong! It's getting pretty intense now, John. I worry about you._

_You're probably thinking "How do you know all this stuff?" Well, some of it is from the news but other things I get from Gloria. She tells me quite a bit... probably a little more than what I'm "allowed" to know. But I guess she does that to keep me from worrying too much. Whatever her reasons, I'm glad she tells me these things. I hate being left out in the dark about things... especially when it concerns you._

_Florida, huh? I hope the weather is (or was) nicer than here. I hope you were able to enjoy some peace while you were out there... if that's possible. I picture you taking a stroll down the road or through some woods just thinking about me... thinking about us... and the things we did together while you were here. I miss those times. I miss you! _

_Surprisingly, my grades are still okay... it's amazing what ignoring students and focusing on schoolwork can do, right? Although, there was this one time I wasn't able to ignore someone. It was yesterday at school during lunch. Some guy was just constantly saying bad things about you. He kept calling you names and said the reason you're doing these things now is because of your parents and how you were raised. He just kept going and going and going... and I couldn't take it anymore! I wheeled around so fast I didn't have time to think, I just acted. I went off on the guy big-time! Honestly right now, I can't remember everything I said to him, but it wasn't nice— I know that much. I stood up to him with no fear and no holding back. I do remember poking him in the chest a few times. When I was done yelling at him, the entire lunchroom was completely quiet... and all eyes were pointing in my direction. I was absolutely livid! I don't think I was ever that angry before. After the echoes of my yelling died down, I stormed off to the bathroom. People quickly moved out of my way. After I got into the bathroom, I noticed Emily followed me in. She still had a surprised look on her face. She couldn't believe I went off like that. I'm not sure what came over me, but it felt good to finally stand up and say something... maybe it's been building up in me all this time. And it certainly erupted like a volcano. I'm surprised he didn't do anything back... probably because I'm a girl. I don't know. Emily said I was so angry, it looked like I was ready to deck the guy and that my fists were balled up so tight, they were turning white. And it's funny, I really felt like punching him! Ever since then, Emily started calling me Sarah 'Hardcore' Hart. She's so crazy sometimes._

_In any case, John, I know you can make it! This whole thing is bigger than you or me. I KNOW you CAN do it!_

_I have faith in you, John!_

_I have confidence that you WILL succeed!_

_And I know I will be back in your arms soon!_

_I love you, John Smith. Always._

_**Sarah_


	8. Chapter 8

**I Am Chapter EIGHT**

Sundays are great; today will be great. After having a fairly stressful Saturday yesterday, I could use a good day. Emily and I are planning on going into town and hanging out for a while; it's been a while since we've had some real girl-time. I need to pick up some things at the store and then we'll probably catch a movie. Of course, Gloria is coming with us too which, honestly, I don't mind.

I'm feeling like a denim kind-of-mood, so I throw on my dark blue jeans which are pretty snug, a white turtleneck sweater that just about swallows me up, and my favorite denim jacket that I got in Colorado. I slip on the light brown UGG boots I desperately had to fish out from the back of my closet. I put on my white winter hat and casually stroll downstairs to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sarah," Gloria says, with a cup of coffee in one hand, a pencil in the other, and a Sudoku book in front of her. She loves puzzles and is always doing one in her downtime. "How was your night? Did you manage to sleep at all?" Her concern is genuine.

"About the same as any other night, I suppose. Just the usual night—" I was going to say nightmares, but she might ask what they're about, and I certainly can't tell her about the Mogs and the battle at the school "—night ... night-time cravings," I say, trying to recover and sound nonchalant about it. "You know those late-night cravings we get."

Gloria gives a warm smile like she believes me, but her eyes suggest I might be hiding something.

"So Gloria," I say in hopes of quickly changing the subject, "are you up for following us girls around today?" I pour myself a cup of coffee, a little sugar and lots of creamer.

"Absolutely," she says. "I'm always ready for a girl's day out," she jokingly adds. "But just pretend I'm not even around. Think of me as your chauffeur today."

"Like every other day, right?" I joke back.

"Hey, be nice." She laughs, knowing that I'm joking.

It still amazes me how easy I can get along with Gloria. Sometimes I forget she's even an FBI agent. I treat her like a friend. Matter of fact, she is my friend ... one of the few friends I have left.

My phone buzzes on the counter beside the coffeemaker.

"That's probably Emily," I say, nodding towards it. I pick up the phone and read the message: b here in 15 k?

I text Emily: kk.

I tell Gloria that Emily will be ready in about fifteen minutes. "That okay?" I ask.

"Sounds good to me." She takes a sip of her coffee. The steam forms a white cloud, floating in the air above her cup and then vanishing into nothing.

This image quickly triggers a recent memory: when I ran into the man-in-black on the street. I don't know why I'm remembering this now; I don't know why I'm noticing this about that encounter, but I suddenly remember the man breathing heavily, not like he was out of breath from running, but just normal breathing. It was decently cold outside that day ... cold enough to see my _own_ breath. But, I didn't see his. It was only a matter of seconds but breathing that deeply, I'm sure I would be able to see any normal person's breath.

_That's strange. Why would I notice a thing like that now?_ It's weird how some thoughts just take you by surprise sometimes.

"Sarah!" Gloria says, almost yelling.

"Huh? What?" I answer back instinctively, my thoughts still somewhere else at the moment.

She slowly repeats, "Are you ready?" She closes her puzzle book, as she stands up, and takes her cup to the sink. "It's time to get Emily."

My eyes follow the coffee cup as my mind still clenches to those thoughts. _Maybe I was just imagining things. Maybe I just didn't notice it. Maybe I'm going crazy from all the stress. Maybe—_

"Hello?" Gloria says, interrupting my thoughts again. "Earth to Sarah ... time to go..." She taps the top of her wrist, pointing to the watch that isn't there, indicating that it's time to leave. "Wow, you _really_ need to get out today," she says. "You have way too much on your mind. Just relax and enjoy the day."

She's right. I need to relax and not think about things too much. I need to just hang out with my best friend and have a little fun. We grab our things and head out the door to pick up Emily.

•••

After waiting another twenty minutes outside of Emily's house, she finally comes out and joins me in the back seat of the truck.

Like most days in Ohio in January, it's cold and overcast. Gray clouds hover in the sky blocking the sun's light from passing through. As we ride, in the distance, I can see Paradise High being rebuilt. It's been almost three weeks since the battle ... and since John left. Everything right now reminds me of that day.

_I wonder what he's doing right now. I wonder where he's at. I wonder if..._

Emily interrupts my thoughts by asking me what's on the agenda for today. After changing my train of thought, I tell her "possibly a movie, lunch, and some shopping." She gets excited at the thought of shopping. The theater doesn't open for another hour, so Emily suggests we get some coffee and pastries while we wait. I get excited at the thought of pastries. Since the café is across the street from the theater, I tell our "chauffeur" to head that way. Gloria gracefully complies.

During the ride, Emily fills me in on what's been happening in her life. Nothing out of the ordinary or exciting, just "boringly normal" she says. She tells me about school: she leaves out the bad things people say about John (or me) and just mentions her classes and people she's met. She tries to defend John when other students mention him. She continues to believe that he is not a terrorist. She may not be able to explain the video or some of the other "evidence" the FBI have collected, but she's steadfast in her belief that John is a good guy—and she doesn't say that for my benefit either. Emily is a very good judge of character, and she knew—like me—that John was special ... and different. _If she only knew how different!_

There are so many times I'm tempted to tell her about John ... the _real_ John. Despite how very close we are, I still keep John's secret to myself. I know she wouldn't tell anyone, but I don't want to drag her into anything if it's not necessary. The way I look at it, it keeps her safe. The less she knows the better chance that anyone—FBI and Mogs—could use it against her. I hate keeping secrets from Emily, but I'd rather her hate me and be safe than to know the truth and be at risk.

Gloria pulls into a parking spot right in front of the café, and all three of us quickly trail inside. The place is filled with the most delicious smells you can imagine. From the various coffees to the freshly baked bagels and pastries, the sweet aromas are just too inviting to pass up. We sit at a table in the corner by the window. The atmosphere is peaceful and the air is warm and relaxing. _Yes, this is exactly what I need._

We sit and talk about different things. Gloria tells us about the different places she's been: Malaysia, Australia, China, Europe, and a few other countries. I talk about my last trip to Colorado when I stayed with my aunt; it was so nice to get out and experience new things and new environments. When Emily mentions her dyslexia, Gloria seems fascinated—and surprised like she's never known anyone with it before. Emily says it can be frustrating at times but she manages.

"So," Gloria says, "puzzles like this"—she lifts her Sudoku book—"and Scrabble are probably not that easy for you, are they?"

"Are you kidding?" I jump in before Emily can answer. "She's a whiz at stuff!" Smiling, I shake my head, remembering the numerous times I've lost to her at Scrabble.

"Yeah," Emily says, laughing. "For some reason when the numbers or letters are already jumbled up like that, it makes it easier for me to see them. I don't know why, but it does. Go figure."

"Anagrams? You like those?" Gloria asks.

"I love anagrams," Emily replies, her eyes lighting up. "They are so cool!"

"I like them too," Gloria says to Emily. Then she asks me, "What about you?"

"Yeah, they're cool," I say. "I wish I was better at them though." I cut my eyes at Emily in a joking way. "I have yet to win a Scrabble game against her. She wins every time."

"Is that so?" Gloria asks. "We'll have to play sometime, Emily. I love anything with puzzles."

"Well then," Emily says in a small, boasting way. "Challenge accepted."

The next hour rolls by faster than we expected as we continue to talk and laugh. When we notice the time, Emily and I walk across the street to see what movies are playing. Gloria says she's going to run some errands while we watch the movie and that she'll be back in a couple hours.

"So," Emily begins, "whatcha wanna see?" She glances at the list on the marquee. She points to the first one, "How about that?"

"Nah, seen it," I say. I point to the third one, "How about that? It's supposed to be a comedy."

"It's _supposed_ to be, but it wasn't funny at all," she says.

Then, both of us see the last title one on the list; we both point at the same time and say at the same time, "Vampires! Win!" We laugh at each other as we amble inside to get our tickets.

•••

After the movie ends, we loiter around the lobby of the theater for a while. I always loved the smell of movie theater popcorn in the air. I could spend hours in here enjoying the atmosphere.

"See, I knew it was gonna end like that," Emily says. "I guess now we just have to wait 'til the next one comes out to find out what happens."

I say nothing and just grin.

"And of course," Emily continues, "you already _know_ how it ends cuz you read the books." She folds her arms across her chest. "Cheater," she says sarcastically.

"I'm not a cheater," I say, laughing. "Besides, you know the books are usually different than the movies anyways."

"Yeah, what-ev!" she plays along.

"I take it the movie's already over?" Gloria says as she walks into the lobby. "How was it?"

"I'd say it was your typical, teenage—" I begin to say, but then someone's phone goes off.

Emily digs out her phone from her pocket and looks at it; her smile quickly fades into a slight frown. "Ugh, my mom needs me for something." She looks up from her phone and at me. "Sorry, Sarah ... I gotta bail."

I tell her it's okay and that I still had fun today. It was nice hanging out with her. She gives me a sisterly hug and starts to head to the door.

"Emily," Gloria says, "do you need me to give you a ride home?"

"Nah," Emily replies, "my mom's at the bookstore down the street. I'll just meet her there. But thanks." She buttons up her coat, waves to us, and exits through the double doors.

Gloria turns around to me. "I guess it's just you and me again," she says with a warm smile. "What next?"

"We can head to the store," I say. "I know it's not very exciting, but who knows..." I let my words linger in a joking manner.

When I close the door to the truck, I catch a quick glimpse of a large dark, shadow-like image of a man in my side-view mirror. I quickly pivot my head around like it was on swivel to get a better look at what I saw.

Or instead at what I _thought_ I saw. When I'm turned around looking behind the truck, I don't see anything.

Nothing.

No one.

"What's wrong?" Gloria asks, looking behind us too. "What is it?"

I turn back around in my seat, knowing I saw something, but now feeling foolish because there's nothing there.

I glance again in the mirror and see...

Nothing.

No one.

"It's nothing," I say. "I just thought I saw someone I recognized."

Gloria slowly nods and then backs the truck out of the parking spot. She puts it in DRIVE, and we make our way to the store.

Although it appears to be more imagination than reality, I can still see the image. And the entire ride to the store, I can't seem to shrug off the strange feeling that someone is following me.


	9. Chapter 9

**I Am Chapter NINE**

After what seems like a long ten minute ride, we arrive at the store and immediately make our way inside. The store isn't huge, but it's not tiny either. There's about nine registers that line the front of the store and about fifteen aisles of just about anything you would need on a day-to-day basis. I grab a shopping basket from the front and begin my slow pace through each aisle; Gloria follows behind me looking around as well. We engage in casual chit-chat as we walk and pause every so often.

As we stroll down aisle 4, I begin to hear music playing from behind me. After a couple seconds I realize the music is more like ... _theme music?_

"Is that the theme to _X-Files_?" I say under my breath. I turn around to see Gloria reaching for the phone on her belt. I tilt my head; stifle a laugh, and think, _X-Files? Really?_

Gloria shrugs and smiles at me as she gets her phone out and looks at the caller ID.

"It's Palmer," she says. "I need to take this. I'll be right back. You're good, right?"

"Yeah, yeah ... go take your call," I say as I shoo her in the other direction.

She answers her phone and disappears around the corner towards aisle 3. I slowly make my way to aisle 5.

Every time I go to the store, I always end up looking at the books they have for sale—whether I need anymore or not. Today is no different. Although it's a small selection, I find myself lost in its contents: drama, thriller, romance, fantasy, paranormal ... they have a little bit of everything. I see a book that looks interesting; I pick it from its shelf and begin to read the back cover.

Despite being half-absorbed in reading what the book is about, I notice a large, dark shadow come into view out of the corner of my eye. Without moving my head, I lift my eyes from the book and glance to the left where the figure stands ... about ten feet away. Before I can think, my head turns left to get a better look at it ... actually, _him!_

My eyes trace the profile of this large, looming figure from bottom to top. Black boots, dark pants, black coat, and ... black baseball cap.

_Oh my God, it can't be him!_

But deep down, I know otherwise. It's the man-in-black I bumped into on the street and the one from the photographs.

I snap my eyes back to the book I'm holding. My heart starts beating twice as fast, and I know this because I can feel it pounding out of my chest; I can hear the accelerated pulse in my ears. Not sure of what I should do, I stand there ... frozen.

Still facing the books on the shelf, the man-in-black takes a slow side-step towards me.

_Seven feet away!_

I want to run, but I still can't seem to move. Not only from fear, but also from curiosity.

Then, my insides jump when finally he speaks.

"I know the police are looking for your friend." His voice is clear, calm, and ... normal. I'm not sure what I expected if he was to ever talk, but it still takes me by surprise. He doesn't make any effort to face me.

"Um ... I'm sorry ... are you talking to me, sir?" I don't know why I asked that; we're the only two people around.

"The police are looking for your friend," he says again. "They may seek your cooperation to bring him into custody."

"How do you—"

"It would be in your best interest," he continues, disregarding my interruption, "to cooperate in this matter." As he speaks, he casually pulls a book off the shelf, inspects it, and places it back on the shelf.

"I'm not ... exactly sure ... what you're talking about," I say, surprised that I'm carrying on a conversation with him.

He turns to face me and takes a step forward.

_Four feet away!_

I automatically step away.

_Five feet away._

That's when I finally get a good look at him. He has an average built, not overly muscular or anything; he's just a large man. His dark, brown eyes sit deep within their sockets. A hard jaw line and strong chin square off his face. Other than his size, he looks like an ordinary man you would come across anywhere. The only things that look out of place are the thin, black moustache on his face and the baseball cap on his head ... a Tampa Bay Devil Rays baseball cap, to be exact.

I may not follow baseball on a regular basis but being raised in a house with a dad and two older brothers who are baseball fanatics, I've picked up on a few things over the years. Not to mention, we're about 90 minutes from where the Cleveland Indians play so there's still a lot of baseball talk around town.

He speaks again.

My insides jump ... again.

"The police will shoot and kill John Smith if you do not cooperate. That is unacceptable," he says flatly. "If you refuse to assist in his capture, they will kill him. We cannot have that happen. Do you understand?"

"Who are you and how do you know—" my words immediately stop as he takes another step forward.

_Two feet from me!_

I stand my ground, my insides trembling.

"We do not wish to see John Smith get injured by the police." He pauses, studying me intently.

I can feel his breath linger in the air with each exhale. It's cold like ice and dry as the wind. The foul and wretched stench lies like a heavy blanket in the air ... and on me. What feels like bile catches in my throat. I swallow hard, willing it to recede back down.

"Do you understand?" he asks one more time.

I nod slowly, holding my breath.

"Very good, Sarah Hart," he says, taking a step back. "We have an understanding then." He turns on his heel, walks down the aisle, and vanishes around the corner.

With my muscles clenched, my heart thumping, and my ears still ringing with the sound of his voice saying my name, I stand there wondering...

_How does he know ... my ... name?_

Moments later, I hear Gloria—still talking on the phone—enter the aisle behind me. I'm still facing the other direction, not having moved an inch.

I manage to pick up part of Gloria's conversation as she approaches me from behind: "... Athens, Ohio ... got it ... again? ... you sure? ... I'll check it out again ..."

_Athens, Ohio? Why does that sound familiar?_

Gloria taps me on the shoulder as she walks up. "Sarah, you okay?" she asks.

I jump slightly at her touch even though I know she's there. I turn around and reply, "Yeah ... um ... yeah, everything's fine."

She presses her lips together, and then says, "You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."

_I don't know what ... or who I just saw._

"No, I'm good," I lie. "I think I'm ready to check out now."

The ride home is quiet. Gloria keeps to herself as she drives, and I'm left with my thoughts as I stare out the passenger window. Thoughts that I wish I didn't have continuously swirl around in my head, creating a blur of everything that has happened in the last three weeks. It feels like everything—John, the Mogs, the FBI, the battles, the fights, the news, school, Emily, Mark, my parents, and my life—has been thrown onto one large pot that's being stirred by some evil, cackling witch. I can feel it: the pot's boiling, and soon it will begin to boil over. What will happen then? Will my life and everything around it fall out of control? Was it _ever_ in control in the first place?

These thoughts—and more—run loosely in my mind during the ride home. It's not until we turn onto my street that my thoughts are diverted to something else. Something worse.

"Gloria," I say in a low and dragged tone, "what is going on over there?"

From down the street, I can see at least three black cars and two big, black vans parked in front of my house. Men in dark blue windbreakers and coats carry bags, boxes, and silver suitcases from the van into the house. Hecht is standing at one of the cars talking to a much older gentleman. From this distance, I can't say that I recognize him but I can tell his hair is really gray; he wears a dark gray suit; and his outward appearance just emanates importance.

"Who are those people?" I ask. "What are they doing?"

Gloria sighs. "They're agents," she replies. "That's surveillance equipment they're unloading."

"Unloading?! For what? Why at my house?" I'm caught off-guard, not sure of what to think. I feel like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Did you know about this?"

"I knew they were sending someone over," she says, "but I didn't know they were going to go all out like this." She pulls over and stops the truck. She keeps her eyes forward and her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

"Listen Sarah," she begins, "things could get a little intense over the next few days..."

"Intense? What do you—" my phone vibrates in my pocket, interrupting my question.

"I need you to lay low," she continues as if I hadn't said anything. "Don't talk to anyone, especially if you don't know them."

I look at my phone. Mark is calling.

She continues, "I have a feeling they're going to put you in a lockdown status when you get home."

"Wait. What? Lockdown?" I ask, holding my phone that's still vibrating. _What does Mark want right now?_

"It's actually the best thing for you right now." Gloria turns and looks at me. "You'll be safer at home while I'm gone."

"Gone? Wh— where are you going?" My phone stops vibrating. I glance at it to see the call go to voicemail.

"Sarah," she says ignoring my plea, "if there's anywhere you need to go or anything you need to do before we get home _now_ is the time to do it." She looks back down the street. "I don't think you'll be going anywhere for a while."

I've spent a lot of time with Gloria over the past couple weeks. She's always shown a positive and happy attitude about everything. Out of everyone I've ever met, she has the friendliest, warmest, and most genuine smile I've ever seen. But right now, in this moment, she's not smiling; she doesn't appear too positive or happy. I've never seen—or imagined—her to be this serious before. That really worries me.

"Sarah..." she says, waiting, offering me time to think.

My phone starts vibrating. It's Mark again. He wouldn't call me unless it was _really_ important.

"Hold on," I tell Gloria, "let me take this real quick."

Gloria loosens her grip on the wheel and takes out her own phone.

"Hey Mark," I say into the phone. "What's up?"

"Hey, you got a minute? Is it ... _okay_ to talk?"

"Yeah, sure," I say. "I got a minute. What's up?"

As I'm listening to what Mark is saying, I'm watching Gloria punch keys on her phone. It looks like she's sending a text to someone.

Being able to effectively multi-task has been one of my strong points. My parents never understood it—or believed it. "How can you talk on the phone, work on the computer, AND listen to what I'm saying to you all at the same time?" they would always ask me. "I'm a teenage girl; you'd be surprised at the many things I can accomplish at one time" I would say. During this entire time, I'm hearing everything Mark is saying and watching Gloria type away.

Mark can be long-winded sometimes and this is certainly one of those times. He doesn't go into details or specifics about anything, but he keeps saying things aren't safe right now. He suggests I come over so he can tell me everything in person. He says it's "extremely important" and that it can't wait. Judging by the intense tone in his voice, whatever Mark needs to tell me must be really important. It's not like him to sound _that_ concerned. And that worries me too.

"Okay," I tell Mark. "I think I can swing by..." my words hang as I turn to Gloria.

"Is it okay if we go by Mark's house real quick?" I ask.

Gloria looks at me and nods. "That's fine. I can drop you off." She goes back to her phone.

I go back to Mark and say, "I can be there in a few. Okay." We hang up.

I look up at Gloria; she finishes her message, sends it, and flips her phone closed. She looks up, straight ahead, and my eyes follow her gaze to Hecht and the gray-haired man. After a couple seconds, I see the gray-haired man reach for his phone. He looks at it, and then he turns his head to the right as if he wants to turn all the way around but he only stops halfway.

"Okay, let's go," Gloria says, pulling the truck into the closest driveway to turn around.

I watch, as we turn around to head to Mark's house, the gray-haired man study his phone. Before we turn the corner, I crane my neck to keep watching: Hecht walks into the house and the gray-haired man gets in one of the cars. Before he slides in the back, I notice he glances in our direction. Being too far away, I'm not able to get a good look at his face before he disappears into the car.

"Where are you going?" I ask Gloria.

"What?"

"You said that I'll be safer at home while you're gone," I say, fearing her absence. For some reason, I feel safe around Gloria. "So, where are you going?" I ask again for the third time.

"I have to go out of town to check something," she says, very straight-forward.

_Athens, Ohio._

"Oh, okay" is all I say, nothing more. I begin to wonder what has changed that suddenly has her on high alert.

"I'll only be gone a few days," she offers. "You'll be safe at the house."

_I hope so._

As we pull up in front of Mark's house, I see him waiting impatiently on the porch.

_What's got him so antsy?_

I slowly gather my things and open the door expecting Gloria to turn off the engine and follow me in. Instead, she waits with the engine still running.

"You go ahead," she says. "Call me when you're ready, and I'll pick you up."

"Okay," I say reluctantly. I get out, close the door, and walk up to Mark. He watches Gloria as she leaves then moves his attention to me.

No smiles.

No hellos.

Just a very concerned and worried look on his face.

"I ... guess this isn't about school, huh?" I ask, trying to soften the eerie mood that has apparently set in.

"No," he says flatly. "I wish it was, but it's not."

"Then, what?" I ask, oblivious to what could possibly be so bad.

Mark looks at me, right into my eyes. Not the look a boy gives a girl either, but a look a doctor gives a patient's family members when he comes out of an operating room ... with bad news. His expression is nothing short of serious.

My spine shivers.

My heart quickens.

My breathing struggles.

"It's John," he says. "He's on his way back here. To Paradise."

"What? How do you—" the words catch in my throat, not being able to finish.

"Come on." He turns and guides me through the door. "I'll tell you everything inside."


	10. Chapter 10

**I Am Chapter TEN**

_JOURNAL ENTRY: Day 23_

_"It's John. He's on his way back here."_

_Those were Mark's exact words 3 days ago when I saw him. He called me over to his house because he said he had something very important to tell me. It was about you._

_I've been thinking about these words the last few days. They're ALL I can think about. How can it be so? Is it really true? I guess only time will tell..._

_John, you can't come back to Paradise. Not now. Of course, it doesn't do me any good to go on about this. Writing it in this journal won't get you the message. There's no way you can hear my pleas. I wish you could... but you can't._

_Anyway, Mark said he overheard his dad and Agent Hecht talking at his house earlier in the day (this was Sunday). Hecht may be a real jerk at times, but he tries to not overstep his boundaries. He keeps Mark's dad informed on what's going on with the investigation, since he is the Sheriff and all. Anyway, they were talking in the living room and Mark was in the kitchen. When he heard what they were discussing, he stayed real quiet and out of sight. He heard most of what Hecht was saying._

_I wasn't too sure of what to believe at first. I was shocked, but then I wanted to doubt the possibility of it being true. Mark told me everything he heard. _

_It turns out, Hecht doesn't know for sure that you're coming back here, but he is very confident that you are. I don't know how. He didn't go into details, but Mark said Hecht sounded VERY confident. So confident, in fact, that he has increased the surveillance at the house... and in town. I caught a glimpse of the agents at my house before Mark told me the news. They had all kinds of equipment and everything. _

_Mark also said they would do anything to get to you... dead or alive. Even though I know that's true, I still hated hearing it. Before I left to go back home, Mark said one more thing to me... it was the same thing he told me in the car the day you left. He said: _

_"We have to make sure we help keep John alive by any means necessary."_

_John, if you only knew how many times these words run through my mind. I'm not really sure how we can help, but I guess we'll come to that bridge when we get to it. I'll do anything to keep you safe... and alive. Even if I get hurt in the end, I'll do what it takes._

_When I finally got home that day, things didn't get any better. I walked through the door, hung my hat on the coat rack and before I could take my jacket off, Hecht is in my face giving me the 3__rd__ degree: asking me this, asking me that, and wanting to know where I've been. Fortunately, Gloria was there, she covered for me. It didn't change much. Hecht still put me on lock-down. No school. No friends. No leaving the house. AND he took my phone! I guess he thinks if you're coming back here there's a chance you might call me. They're tracing anything that comes through my phone. _

_*sigh*_

_It's been 3 days now, and I'm getting antsy. I hate being locked up in the house. Not to mention the fact that Hecht and about 4 other agents have taken up residence in my living room! They've got all kinds of equipment and radios and computers setup in there. Hecht seriously believes you're coming back here. I don't even have Gloria around right now to talk to or break up the monotony of doing nothing. She's out of town checking something out._

_Anyways, the only good thing that's come out of this lock-down is that I've had a lot of time to think. Normally that could be a bad thing (because I tend to worry about you so much), but in this case it turns out good. I've been trying to piece together some things out of all that's happened in the last few weeks. Here, let me tell you what I have so far:_

_1) The Man-in-Black. I've crossed paths with him a few times already. The last time was at the store, in which he spoke to me. Somehow he knew that the FBI (he kept saying police) would want my help to capture you. He wants me to help them. He said he didn't want the FBI killing you. I don't know if he's with another government agency or what. He doesn't seem like he is. I still haven't figured him out yet. It's odd to keep thinking this but his breath was really cold (and smelled awful). In the store he got close enough to where I could feel his breath in the air, and it was cold— I mean really cold. And after I bumped into him on the street, I remembered later that I didn't notice his breath when he was breathing. I mean, we were outside in the cold and I could see my breath, but I couldn't see his. It's weird, you know... why would a thing like that stick out in my mind? And then there's the hat... the TampaBay Devil Rays baseball hat. Something about that just doesn't feel right. I say that because it's odd that he's walking around the middle of Ohio with a Devil Rays hat... they're in Florida. Everyone here are Indian fans. I don't know John... I could be over-thinking this. Still so many questions about this one._

_2) Gray-HairedMan. I saw him talking to Hecht before Gloria drove me to Mark's house. I didn't see his face, and I still don't know who he is. Gloria didn't mention him, but I think she knows him. I don't know if he's good or bad, but he seemed important. This one is still a mystery._

_3) Hecht. He's still a jerk no matter what. I know I promised to be good and kind to everyone, but this guy is an exception. There's just something more to him that I don't like and I can't really put my finger on it. I just try to avoid him as much as possible. For whatever reason (probably pride and ego), he's definitely out to get you! _

_4) Gloria. There are times where I feel like she's hiding something (or a lot of things), but I don't know what. And despite that, I still feel like I can trust her completely... like I WANT to trust her. (Sometimes, like I NEED to trust her. It's hard to explain.) Although I haven't mentioned anything to her, I think she knows A LOT more about what's going on than she's saying. She hasn't steered me wrong yet, and she seems to be looking out for me. Right now, I don't have any real reason not to trust her. Like I said before, I think you'd like her. She's real easy to get along with and she doesn't back down from a fight or a challenge. I think Six would even like her too!_

_That's pretty much it for the puzzle piecing. I did stay busy thinking of other things too... more pleasant things._

_I often think about the night of the fire... when you first told me who you were— who you REALLY were: Number Four. The look on your face was so cute. You looked like you thought I was going to freak out or slap you or something. But I was just so grateful for you... for saving my life. I said it then and I'll say again: "I don't care what you are or where you're from. To me you're John, the boy I love." That will never change._

_I think about that night I came over and you just held me in your arms as we lay on the bed talking. It was beautiful and comforting to hear you talk about Lorien, your parents, and about your past. I would've loved to have met your parents. I think I would like them. Hopefully they would've liked me. _

_At times while you were talking, you looked like it felt good to be telling someone all that... to be able to confide in someone. I can't imagine going through most of your life having to hide who you really are... having to live a pretend life. I hope you know that you never have to pretend with me, John. Never. _

_I also remember how worried you looked that night when you'd talk about the Mogadorians. I guess it wasn't until everything happened at the school that it REALLY sank in. Even then, I was still shocked. But I knew I could trust you to keep us safe... keep me safe._

_Do you remember the first time we ever kissed? _

_...at the Halloween Festival._

_Do you remember what I said right after we kissed?_

_..."I knew you were special the first time I saw you."_

_You are, John. You're VERY special! Not only to me..._

_But also to Lorien..._

_To the Loric species..._

_To Six, to Sam, and even to BK..._

_To the remaining Garde members that are still out there..._

_And especially to the fight against the Mogadorians._

_You are special, John! And I know you WILL succeed in this!_

_I love you, John. Always._

_**Sarah_


	11. Chapter 11

**I Am Chapter ELEVEN**

"I'm going to go nuts if I stay inside any longer!" I say to the person staring back at me in my mirror. She looks tired and worn like she hasn't slept in days. I can see dark circles under her eyes, her posture is slouched, and her eyes have an almost glazed look. I can't believe this is the person I've become.

_It's not me._ But it is.

I'm beginning to think being locked up in the house—more specifically, my room because of the (now) six agents that are always in the house—is probably the worst of all. I need the outdoors, the fresh air, and the freedom. I need to be out. I need to be doing _something_ other than sitting around here doing _nothing_.

I walk to the window and admire the scenery. It's been beautiful outside all week and this pane of glass is the closest I can be to enjoying it. Clear skies and a vibrant sun make the view spectacular, being able to see for miles. The playground is deserted at the moment since it's still school hours. The street behind the playground is empty except for a black SUV and a couple cars. It looks so peaceful ... so inviting.

"I wish I could be out there right now taking pictures," I say to myself. "It's such a nice day." I lean my head on the window and let out a long sigh, my breath catching on the glass.

After a few minutes, I walk over to my bed and pull out the shoebox I keep the journal in. I unfasten the bow and remove the lid. I reach in, lift the journal, and grab the papers that lie underneath. These are the letters John wrote at his house shortly after the now-famous house fire.

He told me, "I couldn't sleep that night, and I hoped writing about the visions I had would help. You know, give me some kind of release."

"Did it help?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "No, not really. But I want you to have them—" handing me the ink-filled papers "—if anything, this gives you something of mine to hold on to."

"I already have something of yours to hold on to," I said with a big smile.

I remember him cocking his head to the side like a dog does, slightly confused. _So cute._

"I have your heart, John," I told him like he should already know that.

A huge smile broke out on his face, and he said, "Yes you do, Sarah Hart." He cupped his hands on my cheeks and kissed me gently. "You definitely have my heart."

Remembering moments like that one always sends a soothing tingle through my body.

I sit cross-legged on my bed flipping through the papers, looking at his handwriting and how much it reminds me of him. I read a little about the war and the different animals on Lorien; I like to focus more on the things he wrote about his childhood. It feels like I know him a little more every time I read about it.

I especially love reading about his time with Henri: how they first met; the things they would do together; and the talks they would have. I sometimes envy John's ability to relive those moments in his past so vividly through his visions.

Although reminiscing about John like this gives me some comfort and joy, it also reminds me how much I miss him ... and how much I worry for him. I can only read through these letters for so long before I have to put them away. They become a reminder of what lies ahead for John and the actual danger that he's in.

I fold the letters and place them back under my journal, replace the lid, tie the bow, and slide the shoe box in the deep recess under my bed. When I sit back up, I notice the single tear that has run down my cheek. I swipe it away with the back of my hand and physically try to shake off the somber feeling that has settled over me.

"Okay, Sarah," I declare to myself. "You have to do something. You've been way too lethargic all week." I sit at the edge of my bed thinking.

"I got it!"

I jump up and rummage through my dresser drawers until I find what I'm looking for: my gym shorts. I change into them, a tank top, and my hardly worn running shoes.

"Wow, it's been a while since I've gone running," I say out loud.

Being on my own all week, I've grown accustomed to having conversations with myself. At this point, it's normal.

Of course not being allowed out of the house, I won't be able to go running outside. But, fortunately I remembered something my mom got for Christmas a couple years back.

I exit my room and pad down the hall to one of my brother's old rooms. Since he left for college, my mom was determined at turning the room into an "exercise gym." The equipment is in there, but she has yet to use any of it.

As I enter the room, I see the treadmill in the corner. Various articles of clothing are strewn over the machine. It has become an old clothes rack over the years. I peel away the clothes and remove the boxes surrounding it. After plugging it in and making sure it still works, I do some stretches to warm up. I jump on and start with a walking pace to ease into it.

During the next twenty minutes, my body goes through the slow progression of walking to jogging. However, my mind and thoughts follow a different road.

I think back to the time in the motel room after escaping the battle at the school: watching over John as he lies on the bed, recovering; listening to Sam and Six devise plans and strategies on what to do next; looking at Bernie Kosar, trying to imagine him thirty feet tall and slaying a huge beast; and going over the conversation John and I had when he finally awoke.

He asked me how I was handling everything; I told him I was handling it okay. That was the only time I ever really lied to John; I didn't want to, but I also didn't want him to worry about _me_. He had enough to deal with already.

"You're an angel" were his next words. I loved hearing that. I can still hear those words now.

"I'm just a girl crazy in love," I said. How true that was ... and still is. Even more now.

Breaking into a jog, I begin thinking about the battle, the Mogs, and eventually the man-in-black. My thoughts seem to always come back to him. I wish they wouldn't; he's creepy enough as it is.

I try to figure out who the gray-haired man is.

_Maybe that's Palmer._ Maybe not.

I don't have anything to go on concerning him. I can only assume that's who Gloria messaged before we left for Mark's house that day. I wish I knew more.

The Mogadorians ... hideous, cruel, foul-smelling creatures. I must admit, it felt _really_ good to kill one of them. In some ways, I hope I get to do it again ... and in some ways I hope I don't. It was one of those moments where instinct guided my reactions instead of a rational thinking process: I just acted.

It's like when I was rock climbing in Colorado last year. It was near the end of the summer, and it was my last climb. I was on my way up a 300-foot rock face; I was about 100 feet from the ground. There was a kid—I say kid, but he was probably just a couple years older than me—about 10 feet to my left and 20 feet above me. Sometimes there two climbers on rope: the lead and the belayer. I was climbing solo using my rope as safety. I guess he wanted to try to impress me and climb solo too. Big mistake.

With his weight on the rope, one of his anchoring cams broke free from the rock crevice. He slipped and dropped about 10 feet; the previous anchor caught his fall.

I stopped where I was and watched him, making sure he was secure.

Still dangling by his rope, he looked at me said, "Whoah, that was close, huh—"

The next anchor broke loose.

He fell another 10 feet.

_Grab the rock face! Secure yourself!_ I wanted to yell at him.

He was slightly amused at the first slip. The second one shook him up; he started to panic. Obviously he didn't anchor his cams well enough.

I gave myself some slack so I can move horizontal, towards him.

"Get your weight off your rope!" I yelled at him. "Grab hold of the rock face."

His face began to pale as he reached for any kind of grip.

When I got to him, I tied my rope through his harness, confident that my anchors would hold the both of us. We carefully made our way down, him first and I followed above—in case he slipped again. Thank God he wasn't a big guy; my anchors would hold him but being tethered on my rope, I don't think _I_ could hold him on my own.

Fortunately, he didn't slip and we made it to the ground safely. When he touched flat land again, he immediately released the rope from his harness and made way for the nearest bush. He stayed hunched over for a few minutes, vomiting.

When I finally made it down, it took a few seconds for the adrenaline to subside and my insides to start shaking. My heart was beating like crazy. My aunt ran up to me and told me that was an incredibly foolish thing to do; but at the same time, it was incredibly brave. She was proud of me.

Again, I was just instinctively reacting to something. I didn't think about it or over-analyze the situation like I would normally do. I just acted.

It's like the man-in-black. It's probably obvious what he's up to or who he is; I just put too much thought into trying to figure him out.

Mysterious. Detestable, ice-cold breath...

_Is that even humanly possible? I don't know ... maybe he's—_

"Sarah?" I hear, breaking my thought process.

I recognize the voice coming from down the hall. It's Gloria.

"I'm in here," I call out as I slow the treadmill back to a walking pace.

She appears in the doorway seconds later, an amused but puzzled look crosses her face.

"What?" I ask, smiling. "I was so bored, I had to exercise. Pretty bad, huh?"

Gloria laughs. "Exercise is good for you. It keeps you fit." She crosses the room and sits in a plush arm chair by the wall. "Besides," she continues, "you never know, being fit might come in handy one day."

"I don't know." I stop the treadmill and step off to the side. "I don't see a lot in my future that requires me to do any running," I add, making a joke out of it.

"Who knows, Sarah," she says, "you'd be amazed at some of the things that can happen when you least expect it." Her expression resembles the look as if she knows something I don't. But, before I can dwell on that too long, she stands and hands me a towel.

"You want to get out of here?" she asks.

"Really?" I reply skeptically. "What about..." my words trail off.

"Don't mind them downstairs," she answers. "You're with me. You'll be safe."

The instant she says that, I know it's true. I do feel safe when I'm with her. My insides feel relaxed despite my muscles aching from the run.

"Anyways," she goes on, "after being held captive in here all week, you could use a break. You need to get out of the house."

I stifle a laugh. "I couldn't agree more. Let me shower first, and I'll be ready."

After ten minutes, I emerge from the shower refreshed and rejuvenated. I throw on a pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and a light jacket. I slip on my boots as I stride downstairs with Gloria.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?" jaws Hecht, his eyes burning a hole through my skull.

"_We're_ going for a ride, Nate," says Gloria, stepping into his line of sight, breaking his burrowing gaze. "She needs to get out of the house; she's been cooped up too long. She'll be safe with me." Gloria continues walking, guiding me lightly by the arm and leading me out the front door ... never once making eye contact with Hecht.

"Nate?" I ask, once we get to the truck. "I didn't know you two were on a first name basis now."

"We're not," she says, smirking.

I furrow my brows, in question.

"I just did it to tick him off." She winks before getting in the truck.

"Wow, someone's got a little defiance in her," I say with an approving nod.

"You're not the only one," she adds.

"Oh, touché."

Minutes later, we're riding down the road with no real destination. I watch a flock of birds flying above outside my window. I listen to the constant whir of the road and the rhythmic breaks in the asphalt as we ride in silence.

Normal.

Peaceful.

Relaxing.

I glance over at Gloria then back out the window. She seems content on just driving—where to? I have no idea. But then again, I don't really care. I just like being on the road with her. Something about this feels familiar, like déjà vu.

_No ... not really_.

More like the opposite.

_A premonition?_

That's crazy. I shake my head and disregard the thought immediately.

"So," I say nonchalantly, still keeping my gaze out the window, "where are we going anyway?" I swing my head over towards Gloria. "You seemed pretty adamant about getting me out of the house; and we don't have a particular place to go or anything to do, so..." I pause, hanging on my last word.

Gloria looks at me with a slight smile, staying silent.

"Why did you really want to get me out of the house?" I finally ask.

"I just thought we could talk for a while," she begins, "without anyone else around. Just the two of us."

"Oh. What about?"

"Anything really. If there's anything you want to tell me or mention..." her words trailing off.

_I want to tell you everything I know!_

"Nothing in particular," I say reluctantly. I really do want to tell her everything, and I don't know why.

Gloria takes a deep breath. "I just want you to know that the FBI believes that John could be coming back here. To Paradise." She looks at me, probably gauging my reaction.

"Really?" I say, faking a surprised look. But failing, I clear my throat and ask, "What makes you say that?"

"That's what they told me. Honestly, I'm not sure how they came to that conclusion, but it seems possible." She pauses. "We can't rule it out."

This is the same thing Mark said the other day. I didn't want to believe it when he told me; I tried not to believe it all week. But the fact that Gloria is telling me now makes me feel like it could very well be true.

"I just want you to be ready," she says.

"Ready for what?" I look at her not knowing where she's going with this.

"Ready," she begins, "in case he tries to contact you or tries to see you." She holds my glance for a moment before looking back at the road.

I ponder the possibility of that before asking, "What makes you think he might try to see me? He would know how dangerous that has to be. He wouldn't risk it." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I don't believe it. He would try, I'm sure.

"Knowing John..." she hesitates a moment before starting over. "Knowing the kind of person John seems to be, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to see you. You just need to be prepared if that happens. You have to decide to go through with helping the FBI."

"I don't understand why it has to be my decision. If he knew I agreed to help, he would think I betrayed him..." my voice fades at hearing myself say that. "I don't think I could live with that."

"Listen Sarah," she says, still focusing on the road. "I know it's not easy. Sometimes tough decisions fall into the hands of certain people for a reason. It's because they are the only ones that can _make_ that decision ... that are _willing_ to make that decision. And they are the ones that will have to live with the consequences of that decision ... good or bad."

I know she's right, but I won't admit it. I can't admit it.

"Everything happens for a reason," she says. "It's always good to be prepared."

For the next few moments, I watch the light poles beside the road pass by my window in a steady rhythm. I contemplate the weight of the decision I may possibly have to make if John does come back ... if he does try to contact me.

"Have you ever played chess before?" she asks, breaking the silence.

"Um, yeah. My dad and I used to play a lot," I reply, wondering where she could be going with this. "Why?"

"Whether you believe it or not, this _entire_ situation"—she circles her hand in a wide arc—"is like a big chess match. What's the most powerful piece on the chessboard?"

"The queen?" I say hesitantly.

"That's right. You know, sometimes you have to sacrifice your most powerful piece—in this case, the queen—in order to gain better position in the game, right?"

I nod, not liking the word _sacrifice_.

"And you also know that even though that queen has been captured, it's not entirely out of the game, right?" She doesn't wait for an answer before going on, "There are other pieces that can eventually get that piece back on the board, if they make the right moves, at the right time, and get to the right place." She keeps her eyes on the road and doesn't say anything else.

I'm left to think about her words.

I begin to wonder if she's trying to hint at something, but she wouldn't do that ... she couldn't do that. She's an FBI agent that's trying to capture John. But why is she telling me this? If he did get captured, how could he escape? He would need help ... LOTS of help. My mind refuses to think past that: the possibility of John being captured ... or even killed.

"Sarah," she continues, "I know you really care for John and you certainly don't want anything bad happening to him. Sometimes we have to make a personal sacrifice—it can be in the form of a decision or action or both—in order to move further. I know you think it might hurt him emotionally; and that he would think you betrayed him. But the harsh reality is: are you willing to accept that in order to save a life ... _his_ life? This should be the factor that determines your next move. It's the only way to save John's life at this point."

Again, I know she is so right about this. But I still can't come to grips with it ... not right now. It feels like there's a wall in my way preventing me from seeing further down the road. I keep focusing on now. I want to believe that John may not even come back to Paradise, but if Mark and Gloria are right then I should be prepared.

I take in a deep breath, trying to settle my thoughts. During this time, it dawns on me that I've never asked Gloria what she thought of John. I know what everyone else thinks of him. But not her.

"Gloria, do you think John is a terrorist?" The question comes out before I realize it. But I don't regret asking it.

"It doesn't really matter what I think, Sarah," she answers in a blasé tone, her eyes still focused on the road.

I turn my body towards her. "It matters to me," I say, my words filled with more emotion than I intended.

Something seems to click in Gloria's mind. She looks at me, takes a deep breath, and then looks in the rearview mirrors. She slows the truck down and gently pulls off on the side of the road crunching the gravel underneath the tires. We come to a complete stop and she puts the truck in PARK and turns her body towards me.

"No. I don't think John is a terrorist," she begins in a straight-forward tone. "I do not think he was directly responsible for the five deaths at the school either."

I give a slight sigh of relief.

"But, I do believe he was involved with your school's destruction, the house explosion in Florida, and the helicopters in Tennessee."

I nod, but not in a way that would confirm her suspicions.

"Whatever John is involved in, I have a feeling that you know—"

I suddenly go on the defensive: my insides quickly straighten up and my heart begins to pound in my chest, but I try not to let this show on the outside.

"—but I'm not asking you to say anything," she says.

My insides relax along with my body language.

She notices this and gives a slight smile and says, "I'm merely here to help you, Sarah."

"Help?" I ask. "Don't you mean protect and keep me under surveillance?"

"That's what Hecht and those boys want," she says with a sly grin as if she enjoys defying him. "But he's not the only one interested in this situation."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't tell you anything right now, Sarah." Her expression softens. "Just believe me when I say that I _am_ on your side."

"How can you be on my side _and_ with the FBI?" I ask.

She breathes out a single laugh and says, "That, Sarah, is a long and complicated story. I'll tell you about it one day but not now."

I glance out the front window of the truck. Cars pass by on the road, people going about their own business oblivious to what's really happening.

"Sometimes I don't understand what's going on," I say. "Everyone acts so mysterious." I try not to look at Gloria when I say this.

"I know. There's a lot going on right now that's difficult to explain or believe." She pauses a moment. "But when the time is right, you'll understand. The answers will come."

"It sounds like you're saying that I should just trust you."

"Sarah," she says, pausing until she has my attention, "I'm not saying that at all. Only you can determine whom you want or don't want to trust. You're a very bright person, Sarah ... more than you realize ... more than you give yourself credit for."

My eyes fall from her gaze, trying to accept what she has just said. No one has ever told me anything like that before, not even my own parents.

Gloria tilts her head lower until my eyes meet hers.

"Trust your instincts. They've served you well so far," she says.

When she says this to me, it doesn't feel like a parent telling a child or an adult telling some teenager, but like a teacher with vast years of wisdom and knowledge imparting it on their student.

Still in awe, all I can respond with is, "I'll try."

"Good," she says, "that's all I ask of you."

She puts the truck back in gear and pulls back onto the road. She keeps her attention on the road and doesn't attempt to continue the conversation.

We ride in silence the rest of the way home. While my mind tries to piece together this forever-growing puzzle, I find myself reveling in the new-found respect I have for Gloria.

_She is truly different..._


	12. Chapter 12

**I Am Chapter TWELVE**

"Another restless night," I say under my breath, followed by a long and frustrated sigh. "Why can't I just fall asleep?"

Time passes slowly as I lie awake in bed, looking at the ceiling through the darkness of my room. Maybe an hour goes by ... maybe two. I refuse to look at the clock because what feels like hours may have only been ten minutes; that would make me feel even more frustrated.

The images from the battle refuse to leave me, returning at times when I least expect them. Everything happened so fast that night; I'm surprised I manage to remember so much detail. My mind operated like a camera: taking snapshots of what was going on. Like my cameras, I wish I could remove the film and throw them away. Never getting the images developed. Never having to look at them again. But that's not the case. I can't do that. Those images will remain with me for a very long time.

The Mogadorians were relentless. They were brutal, showing no mercy or guilt whatsoever. It doesn't matter what got in their way, they were determined to kill everything that got in their path. Those weapons: guns and rifles that were almost bigger than me; swords that glow; and knives that could slice through anything. And what about those beast-like creatures? They were hideous! Running and chasing us all over the place. Hundreds of them everywhere. It was a miracle we even escaped at all! I keep saying to myself, _it can't be real! Those kinds of things don't exist._ But I know better than that. They are real. They do exist. And they are after John!

How is he supposed to fight these aliens, these creatures that are out to kill him? It's amazing he's managed to stay alive as long as he has. A whole entire alien species is after him, trying everything to kill him. Stopping at nothing to ensure that he's ... dead.

And to make matters worse, the FBI is out to get John—_dead_ or alive. I know they won't hesitate to kill him. A terrorist? A threat to National Security? Most Wanted List? The odds are against him. He's running and hiding from the Mogadorians, the FBI, CIA, the police, and whoever else believes that he's a threat.

These thoughts begin to smother me like a heavy blanket. I turn on my side in bed and grasp the other pillow tightly. Memories of John flash through my mind: our first meeting at school, the Halloween Festival, Thanksgiving dinner, our first kiss, and the kiss the day he left ... twenty-five days ago. All of these memories are fresh in my mind as if they happened only yesterday.

I roll onto my back and face the ceiling in the darkness. I give in to curiosity, and I look over at the clock; it's almost two in the morning, and sleep does not appear to be a viable option at this point. As I let out another long deep sigh, a very dark and unsettling suspicion sinks into me. My eyes stare widely at the ceiling in anticipation of some unknown feeling. My body tenses as if waiting for some oncoming impact. I try to shake it off, but it won't lessen. Then, I hear the sound echoing down the hall outside my door.

My body instantly goes rigid and locks in place. My eyes dart toward the door ... waiting ... anticipating.

_No! Please, no. Please don't let it be him!_ The pillow drops from my grasp and onto the floor as the door bursts open.

"Sarah!" says Gloria, hurrying to my bedside. "It's John!"

It wasn't until I took in a huge gulp of air that I realized I was holding my breath.

I sit up in bed and in an instant, everything goes numb and quiet. I feel like I'm in daze. It feels like time has slowed down or come to complete stop. I see images of John, like photographs, passing before me. It's like when someone is dying, they say they can see their life flash before their eyes. Only it's not my life I see, but John's life. His life with me. I see the times we've spent together. I see him before we became close.

Now the photographs change into rolls of negatives, pictures that haven't been developed yet. I see John running from the aliens. I see him in battle. I see us together, holding each other, in a wide open plain.

Now these same images, the negatives, are darkening and turning black as if they've been overexposed to light. They fade to blackness until the images disappear completely ... as if they never existed ... or never will exist.

_No!_

I quickly snap back to reality as if a pitcher of cold water was thrown on me. I'm suddenly hit with the awareness of what is about to happen. I'm still surrounded in darkness except for a small illumination of light coming from Gloria's hand. She's holding my phone. The sound I heard was the ringtone going off. From the quick melody, I knew it was a text message.

"Sarah! Did you hear me?" Gloria asks as she hands the phone to me. "It's John. He's here." Empathy fills her eyes.

I take the phone and read the message: I promised I'd come back. U up?

I wish this could be one of those times I could just act without thinking, but I can't. My emotions and my will are in a massive tug-of-war. And right now, my will to act is on the losing end. I can't bring myself to do what I know I _should_ do.

The words come out before I realize what I'm saying. "This might not be John," I say. "It could be anyone."

"Sarah, please," Gloria replies calmly. "Who else is going to text you at this hour in the morning?"

I don't know where the voice comes from, but I can clearly hear its words...

_He'll hate you._

_He'll never forgive you._

_He'll think you betrayed him._

"I don't think I can go through with this," I get out in a weak and strained voice.

Just then, another text comes in. It reads: I love you. I'm here.

My hands begin to quiver.

"Sarah," Gloria says in almost a whisper, feeling the pressure and urgency of the moment. "You _know_ it's him. You _need_ to reply. You _need_ to meet him."

"I know. I know," I say, trying to take control of these emotions. I take a deep breath but I can't seem to pull myself to reply back. I grip the phone in my hand but my fingers don't want to move. By replying, I'll be luring him into a trap.

_He'll hate you..._

_He'll never forgive you..._

_He'll think you betrayed him..._

I know I have to do this. I know—

"Agent Ducei," a voice booms from the doorway. Without looking up, I know immediately it's Agent Hecht. "The teams are in place and waiting. Get her ready to go. Now!" He doesn't wait for a response. He quickly disappears down the hallway. I think to myself, _I really hate that guy._

My phone goes off again with a third text message. John must be getting impatient, wondering why I haven't replied. This one reads: Bernie Kosar misses you.

My mouth forms a very small smile when reading this. I glance up at Gloria, who then looks from the phone to me with a quizzical look on her face. I turn on my bedside lamp and focus my attention on my phone.

_I can do this!_

_I have to do this! _

_For John's safety!_

My fingers finally find the ability to move, and I reply back: Is it really you? You're in Paradise?

As soon as I hit send, I look up at Gloria. She immediately recognizes the what-did-I-just-do look on my face. She firmly, but gently, grips both my shoulders and turns me to face her.

"Sarah," she begins, "you know this is the only way to save him right now. They know he's out there waiting for you. Once they catch sight of him, on Hecht's order, they will not hesitate to shoot."

I take in a deep breath and slowly let it out, subduing any further emotions from interfering.

She continues, "So the only way to save John's life is to go out there and meet him. His life is in your hands. We'll do everything we can to make sure he doesn't get hurt, I promise. Sarah, this is..." she trails off, pauses a moment, and restarts with, "Sarah, right now, _you_ are his only chance at staying alive."

What she says sinks in: _I am his only chance at staying alive._ I can instantly feel the responsibility weighing down on me. Heavy. Like a ton of bricks. And then as I remember it, I say it under my breath, "Keep him alive ... by any means necessary."

My posture straightens, my breathing becomes controlled and steady, and my hands stop trembling. I know what I need to do.

My phone goes off with another message: I'm outside. Meet me at the playground in 5?

I immediately reply back: I'll be there. :)

Gloria looks me right in the eye and in a reassuring tone says, "You're doing the right thing, Sarah. You got this."

We both stand up; Gloria gives me an encouraging nod and walks out of the bedroom and down the hall.

I hurry to the closet and change into a pair of dark jeans and a dark fleece jacket. I grab a black knitted hat off the dresser, put my phone in my jacket pocket, and head out the bedroom and down the hallway. When I enter the living room, Hecht shoots a glance at me with knitted brows and a suspicious look in his eyes. He seems to be assessing my choice of clothing: all black.

"Wait a minute," he barks out. He looks around the room until he sees something; his eyes focus on the coat rack in the corner. He grabs the white winter hat hanging from it and tosses it at me. "Put this one on instead. That way we can still see you in the shadows. We need to see you at all times. We wouldn't want to lose you out there, Miss Hart." He says the last part with an impudent smug on his face.

He begins to say something else, but his radio beeps and hisses some static. Then a voice from the radio says, "The target is in sight. Five snipers are in place and awaiting your orders, sir."

My breath catches in my throat at the thought of snipers aiming at John, ready to shoot. But with my new resolve, I suppress the anxiety, not letting it get the best of me.

Hecht beams his glaring eyes in my direction, picks up the radio, and answers back, "Copy that. Stand by for _my_ orders." As he lowers the radio, his eyes are still locked on me. He continues to wear the smug look on his face and says, "Remember Miss Hart, you do what you're supposed to out there, and those snipers won't be necessary." He winks at me.

_Winks? Really?_

My skin crawls. I immediately look away.

_I really hate this guy!_

Before I head out the front door, I turn back and catch a glimpse of Gloria looking at me.

She mouths "you got this."

I reply with a nod. Throwing my black hat on the table, I turn and head out the door. I put on the white winter hat and direct my steps to the playground.


	13. Chapter 13

**I Am Chapter THIRTEEN**

I hate to admit it, but I almost feel like I should thank Agent Hecht. _Almost._ He's made me so disgusted and furious with him, all my focus right now is on him and not on what is about to happen with John. I almost feel calm about it. I wonder if that was his intention: to take my focus off of John's capture and on to something else. I loathe the thought that Hecht could play me like that. No, I won't give him that satisfaction. Right now, it's survival instincts.

The playground isn't far from my house. The view of it from my bedroom window is actually pretty nice. Growing up, I remember playing there everyday after school with my younger sister. We would come home from school, throw our books on the table, and head right out the back door. We would race to the playground, and she usually won. Of course, I would _let_ her win so she wouldn't get too discouraged. I think she knew I let her win; she would say I was just looking out for her, always thinking of others. We would go down the slides, climb the monkey bars, and soar really high on the swings. The swings were always my favorite. It gave me a feeling as if I was flying. As I would thrust forward, I'd pretend I was fleeing from anything I wanted to get away from or leave behind. And at the same time, I'd see myself skyrocketing to where I wanted to go next. The playground holds some wonderful and fun memories. Sometimes I really miss those times.

As I get closer, I look around to try and spot the other agents. The snipers.

_Where are they? _

I don't see _any_ of them. All I see are a few cars and trucks parked along the streets.

I step onto the cold concrete of the basketball court. The area outside of the playground is mostly dark. There aren't many lights around. Not at this late hour. A few lamps spill their light on the playground, but only in limited areas. The slides and monkey bars are to my right. Some benches and a couple dumpsters line the edge of the concrete on my left. Another slide and the swings are straight ahead, in the middle of the playground, where some of the light converges. There are some trees that line the back wall of the playground behind the swings.

I feel a soft, steady breeze blowing across me from right to left. I brush the exposed hair from face and over my shoulders. I pull the winter hat tighter around my head. I keep scanning the playground, looking side to side, but I still don't see anyone.

Not the agents.

Not the snipers.

Not even John.

I decide to wait at the swings. I walk up to _my_ swing, second from the left. This is the one I always used as a kid. I set myself in its seat and unconsciously start spinning around and around making the ropes twist above me. Something else I've always done as a kid. I lift my feet up off the ground and the swing twirls me around in a circle. When the ropes become untwisted, I continue to spin myself again, this time in the other direction. As I lift my feet to let the swing whirl me around once again, I see a figure standing in front of me.

"John?" I gasp with an expression of surprise. I put my feet down to try and stop me from spinning.

"Hey beautiful," he says with a huge smile on his face.

I knew he was going to be here. I knew I was going to see him. But, I'm still surprised and excited that he's standing in front of me. Just the sight of him brings a warm feeling over my body; and hearing his voice in person makes my heart flutter.

As he walks to me, I try to get off the swing but the ropes are too twisted to get free. He grabs the ropes in his hands and lifts me—and the seat—up higher so now we are face to face. Oh yeah, I forgot about his incredible strength. As that thought hits me, another warm feeling covers me. He leans in to kiss me, and I can feel soft electricity course through my body. It feels so good; I don't want this to end. It hasn't even been a month since he left, but now I'm really aware of how much I miss him ... his touch ... his voice ... his presence.

"Sarah, I've missed you so, so, so much," he whispers in my ear. His warm breath causes another surge of electricity to shoot through my body. This time it leaves a satisfying feeling that lingers a while.

"I can't believe you're here," I barely get out. "This can't be real."

Another kiss. A longer kiss.

John spins us around until the ropes become untwisted. I jump into his arms and he kisses me some more. I like this. I like this a lot. I run my fingers through his hair—his extremely short hair. I mention the haircut, and he says it's his new tough-guy-on-the-run look.

"What do you think?" he asks. "You into it?"

"I am," I reply with a seductive smile as my hands rest securely on his chest. I can feel his heart beating fast. He's either nervous or excited. Probably both, but hopefully more of the latter. "But you could be bald for I care," I add. It doesn't matter to me. As long as he's alive and safe and with me. That's all I want.

John steps back and looks at me as if he was mentally painting a portrait in his mind. I'm sure he still sees the seductive smile I can't manage to remove from my face.

"I've thought about you every single day, Sarah Hart," he says with an equally seductive smile on his face.

"I promise I've thought about you twice as much," I reply amorously.

We stand there with a foreheads touching, grinning like little school kids. He asks how I'm doing and what things are like around here. I tell him it's better now—which is true at _this_ very moment, being held in his arms. He admits it's hard being away from me. He brings my cold fingers to his warm lips and kisses them.

"I've come so close to calling you every single night," he says in between kissing each of my fingers.

I cup his chin with my hand and raise his eyes to mine. "I've sat in the car so many times just wondering where you are. All I needed to know was which direction and I would have started driving."

He whispers back, "I'm right here." His eyes locked on mine. "Right in front of you."

_Yes you are,_ I begin to think to myself...

Then I remember: right here in front of numerous FBI agents and at least five snipers—who have their sights set on you right now, waiting for a signal to pounce like a lion would on its prey, waiting for the signal to shoot.

A worried and weighted sigh escapes from me. The feelings of anxiousness and excitement of seeing John again has begun to subside while the reality and gravity of the situation at hand takes its place. It fills my emotions like a cup filling with water from a faucet.

My hands drop, and my arms fold across my chest. "I want to come with you, John. I don't care. I can't go on like this," I say, pleading.

I'm willing to risk everything. I can run away with him. He'll protect me; he'll protect _us_. I don't want to deal with school, the police, the FBI, or even my parents. I'll take my chances out there on the run versus staying here under constant surveillance and being used as a pawn—no, used as bait. Everything is crashing down on me; it's hard to stay focused.

"It's way too dangerous," he snaps back. "We just finished battling like fifty Mogs over at Sam's place." He takes a deep breath and calmly continues, "That's what life is like with me right now." He firmly grasps my shoulders and looks me right in the eyes. "I can't put you in the middle of all this."

I can feel the cup about to run over. My shoulders begin to tremble—and not from the cold. The emotions are filling to the top; they're about to spill over.

_No, not tears. Not now. Hold them back, Sarah._

It's no use; the tears form. I try to keep it in check, but only enough to tell him that I can't stay here not knowing if he's out there dead or alive.

"Look at me, Sarah."

I slowly look up into his eyes, his hands still on my shoulders. My arms still crossed, skeptically trying to hold in the rising emotions inside.

"There's no way I'm going to die. Knowing that you're here waiting for me, it's..." he slows as if to find the right words, "it's like a force field. We're going to be together. Soon."

My cup has now overflowed. Single tears roll down my cheeks and my lip quivers as I barely say, "It's so hard." Before I continue, I try to take a smooth, deep breath but it comes out broken and uneven. "Everything is so awful right now, John."

"Everything is awful?" he asks, struck by my words. "What do you mean?"

_What do I mean?_ The aliens that are chasing you, the creatures that want to kill you, the FBI that want to catch you, the snipers that want to shoot you, the police interrogations, the kids at school, my parents disappointment ... _what do I mean?_

I try to piece together what's left of my composure.

"People are jerks," I say. "Everyone's saying hateful things about you, and they say a lot of things about me, too." My poise is failing; I don't think I can hold it together any longer.

_Please John, don't press this issue. Don't go there..._

He replies with two simple words: "Like what?"

He went there. The dam has broken and the emotions rush in like a flood, bringing anger from all directions.

_Like what? _Like how everyone calls you a terrorist and a murderer. Like how they say you hate this country. Like how people at school call you Bomb Smith. Like how my parents think you're dangerous and I'm never supposed to talk to you again. And like how other people are talking about shooting you because there's a big reward on your head.

An aggressive edge laces each word as they fly out of my mouth at an alarming rate. There's no way to hold them back, to keep them locked up in my thoughts. I've already said them, throwing them in John's face.

_Where is all this anger coming from? Why do I want to take it out on John?_

My head drops out of mental exhaustion.

"I can't believe you have to put up with all that, Sarah," he tries to say in a comforting way. "At least you know the truth."

The truth is what's trying to kill you and at the same time, keep me at a distance. I go on as if what he said didn't register, "I've lost almost every friend I had. Plus I'm at a new school where everyone just thinks I'm this weirdo." I immediately regret saying those words, feeling so selfish.

He takes a step back for a moment, stunned by this. He comes closer and whispers, "Things won't always be this way."

"I love you so much, John." Tears continue down my face. "But I can't imagine how we're going to get out of this mess."

I begin to feel the tension pressing down on me, not knowing when the FBI will make their move. My insides scream out to John, _you can't be here! You shouldn't have come! You need to get out of here!_ But I know an escape attempt would end with John getting hurt ... or killed.

Instead, I subdue the anger inside as best I can, and I attempt reasoning to get through to him.

"Maybe you should turn yourself in," I offer, hoping he picks up on the subtle hint.

He snaps his head towards me and says in a rigid tone, "I'm not turning myself in, Sarah. I just can't." He notices his tone and sighs. Then he says more calmly, "We'll get out of it. Of course we will. My one and only love, Sarah—"

_That sounded a little apprehensive. _

_"_—I promise, if you wait for me, things will get better."

How long do I wait? What happens when things get better—_if_ they get better? Will you go back to Lorien? With tears still falling, I voice these concerns to John. He stays silent longer than is comfortable. The answer should be easy. You want to stay here. You _do_ want to stay here, right? With _me?_

"I don't know," he finally answers.

It slowly registers in my head: _I ... don't ... know?_

He continues, "Paradise is the only place I want to be right now, and you're the only person I want to be with in the future. But if we're able to somehow defeat the Mogadorians, then yes, I have to go back to Lorien. But I don't know when that will be."

His words leave a stinging sensation in my chest. I know it's not all about me, but if Paradise is where you want to be and I'm the one you want to be with, what is back in Lorien to go to?

Before I can say anything, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it halfway out to see a text message that says: 5 minutes.

John asks who is texting me so late.

"Just Emily," I lie.

_I hate having to lie to John._

Without wasting a moment, I change the subject. "Maybe you should just turn yourself in and tell them you're not a terrorist," I suggest again, willing him to get the hint. "I don't want to lose you over and over, John."

"Listen to me, Sarah," he retorts, the rigid tone returning. "I _can't_ turn myself in." He explains the police wouldn't believe him about: the school; the five people killed there; Henri's disappearance; or the forged documents in the house.

"I can't get arrested," he continues. "I mean, Six would absolutely kill me right now if she knew I was here talking to _you_."

A pang of distrust smacks me in the chest, the sting resonating throughout my body.

_Six?_ _What does she have to do with this?_

It wasn't the fact that he mentioned her, but it was the way he said "you" that distressed me the most. I take a deep breath and wipe the tears from my face, hoping to overcome the stinging sensation.

"Why would Six kill you if she knew you were here?" I'm surprised at how spectral my words sound.

"Because she _needs me_ right now and it's dangerous for me to be here."

_Whoah! Needs me? Stay calm, Sarah. Now is not the time..._

I take another deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"She needs you? _She_ does?" I ask, purposefully stressing the tone. "I need you, John. I need you here to tell me everything is going to be okay, that all this is worth it." I feel almost guilty for sounding selfish again. Almost.

I want to ask him, _do you think it's worth it?_ but I find myself afraid of what his answer would be. Not the direct answer he would give, but the implied one that would be exposed by his tone in the _way_ he answers it. I feel a little nauseated thinking about it.

I walk over to a bench that's out of the light and sit down. Even through my jeans, the cold metal feels like ice against my skin. But that compares little to the coldness that's trying to bubble up inside me because of what I'm hearing from John. Deep down, I don't have anything against Six. She's great; she can do some awesome things. I _almost_ wouldn't blame John if he was slightly attracted to her in some way. She is Loric after all. I just remember that John told me that Loriens fall in love only once in their lifetime. He said I was the one.

_Was that true or was it just a line?_

John slowly moves towards the bench and sits next to me. He leans his shoulder against mine. He looks like he's trying to gauge my expression.

Images of John and Six together begin to fill my mind. I'm not generally the type of person to get jealous, but the way he mentions her when he talks about her is ... uncomfortable.

_It has to be just my imagination. He can't possibly be..._

I lean away from John. "Six is very pretty," I say, wishing I didn't verbalize my thought at that moment. It was more of a statement and not even a question I wanted a response to, but—

"She is," he says, a little too eagerly as if it wasn't something he had to think about. "Not as pretty as you, though," he quickly adds in, trying to sound convincing. He goes on to say that I'm the prettiest girl he knows ... the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

"But you don't have to stay away from Six like you have to with me." I barely get this out, barely suppressing my emotions, battling the coldness that wants to overtake me.

_He means well. I know he does ... he has to._

"When we go on walks we have to be invisible, Sarah! It's not like we can just hold hands and walk down the street. We have to..."

_What the—?! _

_Hold hands?! _

_Walk down the street?!_

Whatever else he says at that point doesn't register; a wall of sickness slams into me like a dam that just exploded.

I bolt up off the bench as if the icy coldness of it instantly changed to a raging fire. My emotions take on a similar transformation. I turn around to face John, my eyes piercing his as if I was looking through him and at his thoughts directly.

"You go on walks with her? Do you hold her hand when you two walk down the street?" The surprise and aggravation in my tone is unmistakable. There's no hiding it; he knows I'm upset.

John stands up and as he slowly approaches me, I slowly backpedal away from him, keeping a good distance between us. "We have to," he says, actually more like pleads. He says it's the only way he can be invisible.

On the inside, my emotions are in total chaos. They swirl around like a tornado creating destruction in its wake. Rage, anger, disgust ... aggravation, distrust ... despair, anxiety ... jealousy, loneliness, fear ... and hurt, slowly eating away at me.

_Why the hell do you have to hold hands? _

_Why do you even have to go on walks with her? _

_You want to be alone with her! _

_Why do you want to be alone with her, John?_

Suddenly, all these emotions converge together as if they are sucked into a vacuum until nothing remains. Everything—the sounds of the night, the wind, my thoughts, my emotions—momentarily vanish, and I'm left with total and complete silence. The only thing that reminds me that I'm still alive and that this is really happening is the sound of my heartbeat as it echoes in my head.

With absolute calmness I ask, "Have you kissed her?" Four simple words that form a very simple question which only require an honest one-word answer ... how hard can that be?

"What?"

"Answer me." My gut is wrenching. My heart is pounding. And my head is spinning.

_Yes or no, John, it's that simple. Just give me an honest answer. That's all I ask._

"Sarah, I love you," he stumbles on. "I really don't know what else to say." He explains that nothing has happened, but he says it as if he's trying to convince himself more than me.

The aggravation of him not answering the question is obviously building up; he notices this.

"It was a simple question, John." I offer him the same four words again, this time drawing each one out slowly, "Have you kissed her?"

"I haven't kissed Six, Sarah. We haven't kissed. I love _you_."

Right now, I can't tell if he's actually telling the truth or not. I get the unnerving feeling like he's hiding something.

"I see." I take a deep breath. "Why was that question so hard for you to answer, John?" I can't help but sound brazen when I say his name. I don't intend to; it just comes out that way. "My life just keeps getting better and better," I utter to myself just above a whisper. I turn my side to him as I ask, "Does she like you?"

_Please, John, yes, no, or I don't know. Don't avoid the question..._

"It doesn't matter, Sarah. I love _you_, so Six doesn't matter."

_Oh my God, John ... _w_hy can't you just answer the question?_

I grumble out a strained sigh. "I feel like such an idiot!" I cross my arms in frustration and turn my back completely to him.

He believes I'm misinterpreting everything he's saying.

I turn around and glare right into his eyes. "Am I, John?" Tears pool at the corner of my eyes, more from frustration than from being hurt. But the hurt inside is obvious when I say, "I've gone through so much for you." The words strain to come out.

_If you only knew, John._

I recoil as he tries to reach out and take my hand. "Don't—" I rebuke with a sharp tone as I look away, keeping my focus on the ground beside me.

My phone buzzes again in my pocket.

He notices it, but decides to ignore it.

I make no attempt to look at it. I completely disregard it as if it doesn't exist. I turn away from him again trying to gather my thoughts.

"I want to be with you, Sarah," he pleads. He goes on about what he's saying isn't coming out right.

Unfortunately, my thoughts begin to override his words.

Standing in the shadows out of the light, I can barely make out some movement across the playground in the direction of my house. I see shadowed figures moving behind trees, around cars, and ducking behind bushes.

_The agents. The snipers._

I almost forgot about them. I got caught up in all this drama, I forgot the real reason why I'm out here: to keep John safe, to keep from getting him shot, to keep John alive ... by any means necessary. Once again, I resolve to myself that this is the _only_ option.

It's not about me anymore. It never was. I lost sight of that in the middle of all this talk about John and Six. It shouldn't matter at this point. I let myself get caught up in the emotions that's been building over the last 3 weeks and what was said tonight. Then I unleash it all on him; it's not fair to John. I'm here for _him_. I'm here to _help_ him, not condemn him.

I steel myself in the assurance that what I'm doing tonight is the _only_ way to save John's life ... even if he might not see it that way.

I catch his last words as he says, "...I love you. Don't doubt that for a second."

With my back still turned to him, I look over my shoulder and say with my whole heart, "I love you, too."

_I'm sorry John. Please forgive me for what is about to happen. I hope you will understand that this is for your absolute safety. I would never betray you._

The word "betray" is like acid in my mind, burning through my very core. It pains me to think that John might think I'm turning him in out of spite and not for his safety. But this is a choice I have to live with until I can fully explain my reasons ... _if_ I get that chance to explain.

I slowly take a few steps away from him, creating more space in between us. I know it will be any second now before the agents converge on John to capture him.

I hear a noise in the bushes to my left.

_It's happening! They're about to rush in!_

I brace myself and turn towards the noise. But instead of seeing FBI agents in black body armor wielding guns and rifles, I see a teenage boy reluctantly making an entrance from the bushes.

"Sam?" I ask, very surprised to see him here.

"Hey, Sarah," he replies in a whisper, as if to apologize for intruding.

When he reaches me, I instantly embrace him. I'm so glad to see him, but at the same time I wish he wasn't here. I didn't expect to see him, and now I feel even worse because he's about to get caught up in all this.

I try holding on to Sam's embrace a little longer hoping it will delay the inevitable: the FBI pouncing in and taking John and Sam.

He tells me that he's glad to see me and apologizes that they _need_ to go right now.

"We're in a lot danger," he emphasizes. "You have no idea."

I finally pull myself away from Sam. I look right into his eyes and say, "I sort of do." I can't help but give him a helpless glance as if I was warning him, _YOU ARE IN DANGER! YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE COME HERE!_

Something registers in Sam's mind. His head shifts back and tilts slightly, his countenance goes neutral, and his eyes stay locked on mine ... like he's processing information quickly ... like he's reading my thoughts. Sometimes you don't have to be part of an alien race or have special powers to "read" what someone is thinking.

Suddenly, Sam stiffens and his eyes bulge. The look on his face indicates he understood my expression.

My warning.

He takes in a deep breath getting ready to say something ... and that's when it happens.

Total and complete pandemonium breaks out all around us.


	14. Chapter 14

**I Am Chapter FOURTEEN**

"This is the FBI! Don't move!" blasts a voice from a loud speaker behind me. Instantly, the playground jumps to life.

White lights from all around light up the night. Red and blue lights follow along the streets on both sides, creating a slow strobe-like effect that bounces off the trees. Spotlights pierce the frenzied atmosphere, focusing on John's position. Although everything is happening so fast, it also feels like slow motion.

Men jump out from vehicles that were once hidden in the shadows. They race to the middle of the playground with their guns and rifles drawn and pointed in our—no, John's—direction. They're yelling commands, but whatever they're saying doesn't register. I'm too overwhelmed by the shear anarchy that has taken place.

Knowing the men are after John and not me, I instinctively want to move closer to him in hopes of protecting him: m_aybe if I'm near enough to him, they won't hurt him. Maybe they'll go easy on him._

But before I can move, Sam is pummeled by an agent who comes in out of nowhere. I hear the air escape Sam's lungs with a painful grunt as he hits the ground. He's facedown being held by an agent with a gas mask.

_A gas mask?_

Before I can assume why he would need a gas mask, arms wrap around me from behind, quickly pulling me away.

"Come on, Sarah," a voice says in my ear. "We have to get out of here. Now!"

I let the voice direct me. I let the arms guide me away.

My head acts as if it's on a swivel—continually twisting and turning to look behind me, laboring to see what's happening to John and Sam.

An agent emerges from behind the dumpster and tosses a can-like object towards John. Smoke immediately pours out of it, covering the ground ... and Sam. John tries to cover his face, but it's too late. The smoke—or gas—has affected him. He tries to move away but falters to his knees, obviously choking on the gas.

Tears begin to stream from my eyes. Not from the gas, but from the images before me: Sam being held to the ground; John choking on the gas; dozens of men converging on both of them; and the look on John's face when he realizes that I helped make all this happen. I can already imagine him going through a series of emotions: from denial to sadness to a feeling of betrayal.

"Don't move!" booms the same voice again, this time closer. "Put your hands on top of your head and get on your stomach! You are under arrest!"

As Hecht parades past me, he lowers the bullhorn from his mouth ... revealing a triumphant grin on his face.

I look back at John as Hecht strides towards him, a boastful swag in his walk.

John is on his knees.

His hands are on top of his head.

There's no attempt to fight back ... no attempt to escape.

He has succumbed to their orders.

A helicopter hovers above; its bright spotlight beaming on John. More cars tear around the corner, jumping the curb, driving through the grass, and stopping short of John's position. Huge gouges in the grass lay in the cars' wake. More men pile out of a SWAT truck that came in from behind, their guns locked on John. Despite the distance that has been placed between me and John, I witness a SWAT member kick him in the stomach. He immediately folds over to the ground.

"No!" I yell out immediately in protest, knowing he can't hear me.

The person guiding me turns my body and blocks my view, shielding me from seeing anymore. She puts me in the back of an SUV and closes the door.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the back of the seat. The noise that was once chaotic and piercing is now low and muffled, drowning together in a hypnotic drone. I can actually hear myself thinking now, bouncing from one thought to the next.

_What did I do?_

_ What's going to happen to John?_

_ What about Sam?_

_ Where are they taking them?_

_ Will he try to escape?_

_ Can he escape?_

_ Will he be tortured?_

_ Would John tell them the truth?_

_ Would they believe him?_

_ No, they wouldn't..._

A huge boom echoes overhead, breaking the trance I have fallen in. A ball of light explodes in the sky spilling its light in every direction. Someone shot a light flare of some kind into the air, illuminating the area and turning night into day.

I turn my attention back to John. An agent yanks him up from the ground; I can see that his wrists are handcuffed. Two agents escort him to vehicle that's waiting nearby. One of the agents is talking to John.

_That's Hecht._

He shoves John in the back of the vehicle and slams the door. With his hand still on the door, Hecht glances in my direction, right at me.

I look away quickly, not wanting to dwell on him. Despite my strong dislike for Hecht-especially his growing ego over the past few hours—the boastful but devilish smirk on his face is not the image I'm left with.

Unfortunately, the image that stands out the most right now is John being led away with a black bag draped and tied over his head. The stagger in his walk looks like the result of pain or exhaustion or defeat...

Or maybe all three.

"You did the right thing, Sarah," says a voice from the front seat. "It will all work out."

It's Gloria. She's the one that grabbed me. She's the one that led me away. I was so caught up in the moment; I didn't realize it was even her.

When I look at her, she waits until she has my attention.

"It _will_ all work out," she repeats.

Despite the insurmountable odds that John faces right now, something in me believes her. I can't explain it, but her tone is very convincing.

When she sees me relax, she turns around in her seat and starts the truck. She takes her phone out and pauses as if sensing something. I see her look up and out into the distance.

I follow her gaze until my eyes find what she's looking at. I grip her seat with both hands and slowly pull myself forward, getting a closer look. It's the only vehicle that's left parked on the street: a black SUV that sits quietly next to a flickering street lamp. My eyes dart back and forth between Gloria and the SUV, wondering what is so important...

_Or suspicious?_

A man appears from the other side of the SUV, his eyes trained on the vehicle that's hauling John off to who-knows-where. He keeps watching until the vehicle is swallowed in the darkness. I see another man emerge from the driver's side; he says something to the first man and gets back in. The first man nods and as he's getting into the vehicle, he removes something from his head and throws it down to the ground. He closes the door, and they speed off down the road ... in the same direction John was taken.

As I strain my eyes to make out what he threw down, I notice Gloria typing something on her phone. As the street lamp flickers, I can only get glimpses of the object.

_What did he throw away?_

It looks like a...

_Is that a baseball cap?_

A thought slams into me, causing my gut to tighten and knot up.

_No! Not possible._

Gloria finishes typing and waits, staring at her phone and urging it to _hurry up!_

I strain harder to look at the hat in hopes that my suspicion is wrong.

The pulse of the street lamp lessens and the light stays on long enough for me to realize that my fear is confirmed.

When a faint beep comes from Gloria's phone, she quietly expresses her satisfaction, slides the phone back in its pouch, and we drive off.

For the next few moments, all I can think about is the small image made more visible by the light of the street lamp...

_A Tampa Bay Devil Rays hat ... just like the one the man-in-black was wearing._


	15. Chapter 15

**I Am Chapter FIFTEEN**

_JOURNAL ENTRY: Day 26_

_What I did last night was the single MOST difficult thing I EVER had to do. I just want you to know, John, that it wasn't easy for me at all. Not even after the things you told me about... you and Six. That's beside the point._

_What I did, I did for your safety... and for your life. I hope you understand that. I hope you realize that. I love you, John, with everything in my heart and I would never do anything deliberately to hurt you or put you in harm's way. But I had virtually no choice in this._

_The FBI would stop at nothing to get you, even if that meant shooting you. In their words, they'd get you "dead or alive." Without my help, they would take you dead. Hecht did not hide his intentions of shooting you on the spot if I didn't help. At least this way, you're still alive. I'd like to think I gave you a chance at surviving... and hopefully escaping somehow._

_I haven't been able to sleep at all this morning or today. After you were captured and taken away, Gloria drove me away from the scene. Most everything has been a huge haze of events since then. My mind has been trying to process everything... old thoughts and new ones. _

_I vaguely remember showing up at the police station. I wasn't questioned like last time, but I couldn't exactly be happy about it either. Everyone there was celebrating in your capture, giving high-fives and pats on the back. Hecht was there in his gloating victory. I was surprised he wasn't interrogating you, wherever you were being held. I guess he wanted to bask in his wondrous triumph... as short-lived as it was! Ha!_

_Within hours of your capture, news of your escape spread like wildfire throughout the station and the city. I loved it! I'm sure everyone could see that too. I wanted to give high-fives and pats on the back, but there was no one there to celebrate with me. Gloria was there and although she smiled and seemed pleased with your escape, she didn't let anyone else see it. She is an FBI agent after all._

_Gloria... there's still something about her that doesn't fit right, and not in a bad way... just different._

_After the "celebration party" turned into a flurry of tantrums and frustrations, the station emptied out as Hecht barked orders in all directions. I realized our roles were ironically reversed: I had the gloating expression while he wore the look of despair (with a lot of anger mixed in). I loved it!_

_When Gloria drove me home from the station, she filled me in on everything she knew. I didn't find out all the details of your escape but from what Gloria told me, it sounded like Six was there. I bet she was pissed at you! _

_I wonder how she knew where you were..._

_And it sounded like the Mogs were there too. I think I figured out how they knew where you were. I think there were Mogs following you all the way from Florida when you first came here. _

_I have a pretty good feeling that the man-in-black is a Mogadorian. He doesn't look like the Mogs we fought at the school, but I'm convinced he is one... just one that looks almost normal._

_1) His ice-cold, hideous breath. I don't know if Mogs are cold-blooded or what but I'm sure if he was human, his breath wouldn't be that cold. It would be hot or even warm. It's just not human. And that breath! Stench like something that is NOT human. _

_2) His hat. It probably sounds silly, but hear me out. He's wearing a TampaBay Devil Rays hat while strolling around central Ohio— probably the largest population of Cleveland Indian fans in one spot! Not impossible, but highly improbable. Think about it: You left central Florida to come here. TampaBay is close by. He probably started following you from there, laying low and only observing. That's probably how they knew to find you at the school. _

_3) His sudden leaving when you were hauled away. As soon as you left in custody, he left right behind you. That's how the Mogs knew where you were taken to. And they came after you. I guess Six got there before them._

_It can't be coincidence. They were probably watching in hopes that more Garde members might eventually show up. _

_My theory is that the Mogs wanted you taken by the FBI so they could still lay low— let someone else do the dirty work. Once the FBI had you tucked away somewhere, they'd go in and get you. That's why they didn't want the FBI to kill you. The Mogs wanted you alive— probably to get information and then eventually kill you._

_I guess they didn't plan on Six showing up. I'm glad she was there and helped you and Sam escape._

_I still can't figure out how she knew where you were._

_Before all this happened, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to separate logical thinking from my emotions. I mentally prepared myself that was able to do it: cooperate with the FBI to help bring you into custody. But when the time came... when it was all happening for real, I froze. It was difficult to keep my emotions from interfering with what I knew must be done... with what had to be done. _

_Then it happened. I admit, it was after you told me about you and Six. When the numbness wore off, I started seeing everything clearly. I knew what I was doing was the right thing._

_It wasn't out of spite or anger or even jealousy. I'm actually not that surprised you would be attracted to her. You're both Loric, you're both stranded on another planet, and you both possess very similar qualities. It would be natural for you two to be attracted to each other. _

_But what it came down to was a choice... not much of a choice, but still a choice nonetheless. It's a choice I will have to live with, even if that means you hating me for doing it. _

_If anything would've happened to you, knowing that I could've done something to prevent it, I wouldn't be able to live with that. I'd rather you be angry or even hate me than to possibly lose you forever. At least this way, you have a chance... a chance to survive... a chance to fight and eventually defeat the Mogadorians._

_You're special, John. A lot more than I think you realize. I know it. I can feel it. And it's not because of how I feel about you. I just know that you will play a bigger role in this fight than you can possibly fathom or even understand._

_YOU ARE SPECIAL!_

_It's rare that a person can come along and change your life forever. You've done that for me. And not because you're from another planet, or because you possess tremendous abilities, or even because you fell in love with me. But it's because of what you taught me..._

_It's about not giving up when the odds are against you._

_It's about defending what you believe in and preserving who you are._

_It's about loving those important to you so much that you'd do anything and everything you could to protect them._

_It's about running until it's time to fight..._

_And then fighting when running is no longer an option._

_I want you to know that I'm not running from you, John._

_I'm right here waiting for you... fighting for you._

_Do you remember what I told you in the motel room the day you left?_

_"I don't know where you have to go or what you have to do, but I'll wait for you, John. Every bit of my heart belongs to you, whether you ask for it or not."_

_I love you John Smith..._

_I love you Number Four..._

_Always..._

_Forever..._

_**Sarah_


	16. Chapter 16

**I Am Chapter SIXTEEN**

I can't believe I passed out so quickly last night. After I finished my journal entry yesterday, I tucked it away securely in its shoe box and slid it under my bed. I lay down and closed my eyes and when I opened them a few seconds later, eight hours had passed. It was my body's way of telling me that I _needed_ the rest.

I woke up around one in the morning and quickly turned off my light, hoping I wouldn't wake up any further. I awoke again around seven; I got up and got dressed in some warm jogging clothes and went for a run. It was nice not having to deal with any agents asking me where I'm going or what I'm doing. They all left, convinced there wasn't a reason to keep me under surveillance.

It's only been a day, and I already miss Gloria. After dropping me off yesterday, she had to leave quickly; we hardly even said good-bye. I hope she comes back soon to at least do that. She didn't say where she had to go or when she'd be back—if she'd be back at all.

After my run, I showered and changed into something comfortable: sweats and a baggy t-shirt. Emily said she wanted to come over and hang out today since she had to bail on me last Sunday. I told her that sounded great. She said she wanted to play some games; I told her they're all in my brother's old room. She's in there now looking.

As I sit on my bed with my back against the headboard, I think about my new-found freedom. It feels good. I still feel a little guilty about helping the FBI, but it all worked out ... and he's still alive. I keep remembering what Gloria told me: Everything happens for a reason. I'm beginning to believe that.

I also keep thinking about my journal. When I finished that last entry, I had the strange feeling like it was my last. I'm not entirely sure what that could imply, but it's a little unsettling.

"Hey, look what I found!" Emily exclaims, bursting through the door holding a game. "Let's play this."

"Yeah," I say reluctantly. "You would pick Scrabble. You win every time." There's a hint of playful sarcasm in my tone.

"Well," she says, "there's a first time for everything, right?"

I laugh. "Yeah, so they say."

"C'mon Hardcore Hart, toughen up!" she says with a grin.

I laugh again at the new nickname she has obviously adopted. "What-ev!" I playfully shoot back, using one of her favorite phrases.

She purses her lips and nods slowly. "Good one ... and showing a little attitude too."

"Ha. Ha. Now give me the box," I say, relishing in my comeback. "I'll set it up."

Emily hands me the box, and I start emptying the contents out on the desk.

"Have you heard anything from Gloria?" she asks.

I shake my head as I pour out the letter tiles from the velvet bag.

"That sucks. I liked her." She pauses, letting that moment pass before going on. "What was her last name again?"

"Ducei," I say, spreading out the letter tiles before me.

"Do— what? Is that French or something?"

I stifle a laugh. "Ducei," I repeat, slower this time. "Here, let me show you." I start rearranging the Scrabble tiles to spell her name: GLORIA DUCEI.

"See," I say, pointing as I say, "Gloria Ducei. It's just like saying 'do' and 'sigh'. Easy, right?"

"Oh. When you put it that way, yeah."

Her eyes stay fixed on the tiles; I can see her mind working. When we first started playing this game a few years ago, I thought I would have a slight advantage because of her dyslexia. I was wrong. Somehow it actually helps her a great deal. Just seeing those letters already mixed up gives her a head start, and she's able to see other words almost instantly.

"What?" I ask, obviously not seeing what she's seeing.

"A licro guide," she blurts out.

"A what?"

"A licro guide. See?" She starts rearranging those same tiles until it shows: A LICRO GUIDE.

I look at the letters then at Emily then back at the letters then back at her once more.

"Um, I doubt 'licro' is a word," I finally say, trying to hold in a laugh.

"Yeah, I know," she admits, "but it's the first thing I saw with just a glance at the letters. It's not easy anagramming someone's name."

"What-ev, you showoff," I say with that same sarcastic playfulness.

She laughs. "You better start warming up those brain cells. You're gonna need all of 'em to beat me."

I grab a pillow from my bed and throw it at her. "Shut up," I say, laughing.

"Hey, I'm gonna get a drink from the kitchen. You want anything?" she asks, standing at the door, holding the pillow.

"No, I'm good."

She disappears around the corner, taking the pillow with her.

"Crazy nut," I say under my breath.

I look back at the Scrabble tiles she arranged to spell: A LICRO GUIDE.

"Licro," I say, shaking my head slowly. "That is _so_ not a word."

But as my head moves side to side, I find my eyes are stationary ... transfixed on that single word. I can't take my eyes away from those five letters: LICRO.

_Why does something look familiar about that word?_

I begin rearranging those five tiles, looking for the familiarity...

CROIL? _No..._

ROCLI? _No..._

OILRC? _No..._

IROCL? _No._

I rearrange the tiles one more time, and that's when I see it. I'm left with a word that is very familiar.

"It can't be," I whisper to myself.

In disbelief, I slowly sit back in my chair staring intently at the letters before me as they stare back at me.

"_She_ can't be ... it's not possible."

I get up from the desk and walk over to the window. As I look outside, my mind races back through time trying to remember everything I can about Gloria, attempting to fit the pieces of this puzzle together ... trying to discover the connection.

_John._

_Six._

_Henri._

_Gloria?_

I look back at the desk, staring at the letters that form the words: A LORIC GUIDE.

Gloria Ducei ... is a Loric guide.

A Cêpan.


	17. UPDATES!

**The Good News**: I do intend on writing the sequel to this story. I left some things open at the end of the story that I'd like to close up but more importantly, I have more of the story to continue! I've been sitting on this too long, and it's time to get working. Besides, I'm really anxious to get the next story out there!

**The Bad News**: I seriously doubt that I will have the sequel out before the next book by Pittacus Lore like I wanted to. The next book, entitled _The Fall Of Five_ is due out in late August. Recently I thought since I didn't have enough time to finish the sequel before the next book, why even try? Well, I need to get this story out of my head. And regardless what is written in the next book, I'm confident that what I originally have for the sequel will be okay. If anything, I could use information from the next book as well. In any case, the sequel will be written in the same manner as to coincide WITH the original writings.

**Status**: I will begin my zero draft soon. I'll probably create a new story with the current synopsis just so that it has some physical existence. In the meantime, here is the Synopsis & Notes...

NOTE: This is a not-for-profit fan fiction writing based on the Lorien Legacies writings by Pittacus Lore. This story contains SPOILERS to the original books and novellas; please read them FIRST to experience the full benefits of this writing. This story was written to coexist WITH all the original writings to date.

SYNOPSIS:  
Sarah had to sit idly by and watch John leave Paradise in search of safety and answers. Now, it's her turn. Follow Sarah Hart as she embarks on an journey that will test her dedication and courage. Find out the mystery shrouding Gloria: Who is she; where is she from; and what happened to her past to bring her here? Witness the sacrifice it took for one special individual to help advance the progress of their fight.

_"Everything has a purpose. Everyone has a role."_


End file.
